


Crimson Flood

by Sky_Warrior01



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Robin (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Death, Demon, Demonic Possession, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Trauma, Violent Killings, lots of blood, mission goes wrong, reverse batfam, this is going to be really sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_Warrior01/pseuds/Sky_Warrior01
Summary: When a mission with the Young Justice Team goes wrong, Dick Grayson finds himself possessed by a bloodthirsty demon with no control over his body as the demon rampages through the country, leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake. Can Batman and the Justice League stop the demon and still rescue Dick, or will he be completely consumed? Will anyone be able to stop the killings, or will Dick drown under a crimson flood?Gore warning. Proceed with caution.
Comments: 28
Kudos: 89





	1. Prologue

“It’s going to be okay.”  
  
“No it’s not. We’ve been captured, Rob. The entire Team has been captured. Miss M and Superboy have been unconscious for over an hour, and Aqualad is going to be too if we don’t get him out of here. It’s too hot for him. I’m out of fuel too… they took my backup snacks.” Kid Flash protested, fear shining in his eyes as he glanced around their grimy cell at the unconscious and injured bodies of their friends.

Artemis sighed, rubbing her shoulder where her quiver normally rested. “And they took our weapons. We’re useless without them, no powers, remember?”

“We don’t need powers. We just need to be smart.” Robin insisted, fingers working quickly as he pulled what looked like wire from the bottom of his cape. “I can pick the lock. We just… we just need to get high enough to the surface to get a signal. Then we can let Batman and the League handle the rest.”

He spoke softly, voice barely above a whisper as he glanced around the room before inching closer to the cell door.   
  
They were in a large metal cage, the bars thicker than Robin’s arm and close enough together that slipping out between would be impossible, even for him. Fortunately, the bars did give them a pretty great view of the room, and, considering that it seemed to be the largest room in the maze of underground tunnels that they had found themselves trapped in, it was easy to see if anyone entered.

This could work.

Unfortunately, his conscious teammates did not seem as positive.

“Robin, no one is going to be able to make it that far. KF is out of fuel, Miss M is down for the count, and you’re injured. That’s all of our stealth people down for the count.” Aqualad croaked from his position slumped against the bars on the far side of the cage, barely hanging onto consciousness in the overwhelming heat of the cavern.

Artemis gave Aqualad a concerned glance before nodding and returning her attention to Robin. “It’s too risky. I’m the only one who’s not injured enough to do it, and even I know that I’m not going to be able to make it.”

“I can do it. I’m not _that_ injured.” Robin protested, looking to Kid Flash for support.

The redhead simply sighed, glancing over at their unconscious friends. “If Robin says he can do it, he can do it.”

“Great. Now that that’s settled, can you guys keep an eye out? I gotta pick the lock.”

With begrudging agreements, Artemis and Aqualad turned their focuses to different sides of the room, Kid Flash taking up a position next to Robin, eyes narrowed at the main entrance. Robin began twisting and turning the wire, his entire attention focused on the task at hand.

It did not take too long, but to the Team, or at least those conscious, it felt like an eternity before a soft clicking sound was heard and Robin carefully removed the padlock, tucking it into a pocket of his suit. The door pushed open with a loud screech of metal, and they all held their breaths, waiting for soldiers to flood into the room.

But, after several long moments of silence, it became clear that no one was coming.

They were in the clear.

“Okay, I’ll be as quick as I can. If all goes well, I’ll able to come back and lock myself back in before anyone notices.” Robin said, turning to smile reassuringly at his teammates. “It’ll be okay. Just hold on a little bit longer.”

“You got this, Rob.” Kid Flash clasped his shoulder, worry shining in his eyes. “Just be careful, okay?”

“When am I not?” Robin laughed his signature cackle, stepping away and quickly disappearing into the shadows, leaving the rest of his teammates to hope and pray that he would return safely with good news.

They were counting on him.

Robin did his best to move quietly through the tunnels, hiding in cervices to avoid patrols and taking side tunnels when necessary. Even though he was going as quickly as possible, he knew that it was not fast enough.

The display on his mask continued to be filled with static, no matter how far he seemed to go, if anything, it felt like he was going deeper into the ground, the heat growing stronger, the air heavy and dense. But that was not possible. There was no way he was not going toward the surface. The tunnels were slopping upward.

It did not make sense.

And it made even less sense when Robin stumbled into the main room once more, breathing heavily from the heat, sweat beading across his forehead. His friends were still in the cage, watching him with fearful expressions, swarms of robed men crowding the space that had before been so empty.

Hands reached for Robin, and he sprang into action, leaping away. Or at least, he tried to leap away, but his movements felt sluggish, as if he were moving through water rather than air. The hands clamped down on his shoulders as the ominous sound of chanting echoed off the cavern walls.

Robin struggled, but more robed figures flooded out from the passageway behind him, pushing him forward and into the center of the room. His efforts to break free continued to feel more and more futile as the chanting grew louder and louder until the sound was practically deafening.

_He could not move._

Panic began to well up in his chest even as Robin was forced down to his knees.

_When had it gotten so dark?_

The shadows swirled around his body, filling his vision with pure and utter darkness. Something about the shadows felt malevolent, the darkness seeming to suck away even more of Robin’s vitality.

_It was alive._

And then it moved, pressing into his mouth and nose, the suffocating darkness flooding into him and bringing with it a tsunami of feeling, pain and fear crashing over him in one gigantic wave.

He slumped to the floor, convulsions wracking his body as the darkness continued to pour in; a seemingly endless wave of pain.

Back arched off the floor, eyes wide, Robin screamed.


	2. Mmm... yummy blood

Three years.

That was how long it had been since the failed mission.

Three long years since the youngest member of the Bat family had been possessed by a demon.

Over one thousand days since the last sighting of Richard Grayson.

Any and all attempts to track him down had fallen short, the demon possessed boy seemingly vanishing into thin air whenever the Justice League thought they had a lock on his location. In fact, the only reason why they were sure he was still alive at all was the ever-growing trail of bodies.

The destruction had formed a pattern; weeks of nothing followed by a sudden and gruesome massacre, entire cities being wiped out practically in the blink of an eye, too fast for the League to react. And, by the time they arrived, the boy would be gone, leaving devastation in his wake.

City after city, the destruction spread, sewing fear into the hearts of everyday citizens.

Crimson is what they called him, after the bloodshed that followed his each and every appearance. Gradually, the name had spread, evoking fear at its mere whisper.

After all, no one knew how he picked his target cities, or where he would appear next. All they knew was that where he went, cities flooded with crimson blood, announcing where he had been like a dark stain slowly spreading across the world.

The people feared him, and rightly so.

~•~

**Blüdhaven, 2:37am, November 18**

Blood splattered onto the walls, crazed laughter echoing from the depths of the alleyway and out onto the street as Crimson finished playing with his latest victim. The elderly man really had not been too much of a challenge. In fact, he had approached Crimson willingly, attempting to corner the weak looking boy.

What an idiot.

He had deserved to get his head smashed in.

With a loud sigh, Crimson kicked the body. “This is boring. You were _boring_. Stupid smelly pervert.” Shoes squelching in the puddle of blood and mess of vital organs, he turned away, fixing his gaze upon the alleyway exit.

More people were out there.

Maybe they would be more interesting.

As Crimson stepped out onto the street, he loosened his control over the body, eyes returning to their natural brilliant blue.

Dick’s eyes went wide as he noticed where he was, saw the crowded street of people, most with their attention focused on him. This was not good. He could see, could think, but he could not turn away, could not _leave_. He knew all too well what would happen next.

It had been happening over and over again for years, and, as much as he fought it, Dick knew that it was inevitable. There was nothing he could do to stop it; all he could do was watch the carnage unfold.

A young woman stepped forward from the crowd, approaching Dick, concern written openly in her expression. “Are you alright? You’re covered in blood… what happened to you? Are you hurt?” She asked, tone wavering between soothing and worried.

 _“She’s worried… how sweet.”_ The words slithered through his mind, as the demon forced his body to step forward, forced him to smile timidly at the woman.

She was going to die.

There was nothing that Dick could do to stop it; nothing that he had not tried before. But still, he had to try. He had to. “Please… r-run. I… it i-isn’t safe.” He gritted out, voice unsteady and cracking from the effort it took to control even that small part of his own body.

Of course, it was futile though.   
  
It always was.

Red slowly flooded into his eyes, drowning out the blue even as Dick was pushed back, forced to watch the events unfolding, forced to watch his own body slaughter thousands.

The lady took a quick step back as she saw the blue bleed to red, her own eyes widening in horror. “What… what are you?”

Crimson inhaled slowly, lips twisting upward into an eerie grin. “Who? Me? Oh, I’m not anything special. Just a lover of death.” The smell of fear was intoxicating, filling him with energy as shadows began swirling around his body. He giggled as the woman turned to flee, it was always more fun when they ran, a flick of the wrist sending spears of shadow into her body, impaling her in multiple places.

Another flick of the wrist was all it took for them to disintegrate, the woman falling to the ground as blood pooled around her body. He knelt down, swiping a finger across the blood and popping it into his mouth. “Mmm… _yummy_.”

Ah.

There it was.

The other people on the street were panicking now, their fear permeating the air, a delicious invitation for an even more delicious meal. Someone screamed, and others began to run, tripping over eachother in their haste to get away.

“Awe~ How considerate. I do love a good chase.” The demon purred, rising from the ground gracefully and casually strolling after the fleeing humans, his shadows following him like loyal hounds, baying for the hunt. With a flick of the wrist, they surged forward and the screams grew to a deafening roar, blood splattering across buildings and dripping from walls.

Stepping around mangled bodies and stray limbs, Crimson let loose a bellowing laugh, the joyous sound echoing through the city as the screams slowly faded into an eerie silence. He could feel the energy rushing into the puny mortal body which he inhabited, could feel himself growing stronger. It would not be long now until he could create his own form. Of course, in order to do so, he would need to completely drain his host, but that was alright. The boy was already withering away, worn down by years of possession.

Crimson continued to laugh as he strolled through the city, shadows searching for survivors. Normally, it was the children who managed to slip through his grasp, the tiny, pitiful, creatures hiding in places where their grown counterparts could not fit.

This was arguably his favorite part of the hunt, especially since it seemed to bother his host so much. He did quite enjoy tormenting the boy whose body he lived in. It was fun.

So, as Crimson rounded a corner and spotted a young boy climbing out of a car, his maniacal laughter grew louder. It was all too perfect.

“Come here, little boy~ I wanna play~” He purred, smile sadistic as he licked his lips, tasting the child’s fear. The boy turned and ran, of course he did, but it was not hard to capture him with shadows, the darkness binding the child’s hands and legs, carrying him to the demon.

The boy struggled and cried, tears trailing down his cheeks as Crimson moved in closer.

“L-leave me alone, m-monster!”

“Awe~ So cute.” Crimson snickered, running his finger across the boy’s cheek, only to have the kid turn his face and attempt to bite him. “Hmph. Now that was not nice at all. You’re going to regret that, brat.” His hand closed around the child’s neck, and the shadows pulled back, leaving the boy flailing helplessly as Crimson held him up and pushed him against a wall with unnatural strength.

The demon watched in amusement as the child continued to struggle, small hands pulling frantically at the one gripping his neck, his face slowly turned purple from lack of air. In amused fascination, Crimson noted that the boy’s eyes seemed to bulge from his face in his final moments, veins popping out along his forehead. As the boy slowly went limp, the demon gave Dick back control over his body, retreating to watch from inside as his host was even further traumatized.

And traumatized Dick was.

He released his grip from around the boy’s neck, tears springing into his eyes as he watched the small body slide to the ground, the tiny chest still, heart no longer beating.

“No. No. _No_.” Dick whispered, dropping to his knees next to the fallen child, fingers pressing against his bruised neck to check for a heartbeat. There was not one. He started CPR, vision blurring from the tears now streaming down his cheeks. “Please. _Please_. Please work.” He continued to talk to himself, body trembling with the effort, too weak from lack of proper care to do much now that the demon had retreated back. 

He had killed this boy.

 _“Yes. Yes, you did kill him. You should not have tried to warn that woman. You know better.”_ The demon hissed in his mind, the words only making Dick’s tears fall faster as he continued his useless efforts to resuscitate the dead child.

The child that he had killed, one of hundreds, no, thousands, that had died at his hands.

“Please… no more. _Please_.” He begged, already knowing that the pleas held no value.

The demon was not going to stop.

 _Crimson_ never stopped.

There was no response from his tormentor, and, after several long moments, Dick gave up on bringing the boy back, gently closing the dead child’s eyes before he turned his attention onto the street behind him. It was a gruesome sight, blood coating almost every surface, dark puddles of the liquid pooling in the street, and mangled bodies scattered in every direction.

Shakily, Dick rose to his feet, the sole living person in a city once filled with thousands. Tilting his head back to gaze up at the sky, images of mutilated bodies haunting his vison, tears continuing to pour down his cheeks, Dick let out a scream of anguish before the demon once again took control and pushed him back into the dark recesses of his own mind; a mental prison where the horrors he had committed replayed over and over again, haunting his every moment.

_Someone… anyone… please save me…_

Crimson only chuckled darkly at the boy’s mental plea, wiping his face to get rid of his host’s pitiful tears. Red eyes roamed over the scene of his crime, lips pulling up into a proud smirk.

It was beautiful.

No one had stopped him here, and soon, no one would be able to stop him at all.

Soon the world would bleed crimson.


	3. Hero food... super food... yum...

Bruce was irritated. Beyond irritated in fact. No, he was both furious and frustrated, concern and anger fighting a continuous battle within him ever since he had learned of Dick’s possession. He had watched the footage from each attack, had tried to trace and track his youngest protégé to no avail, and that alone was infuriating. Left unable to do anything but watch as with each appearance it grew all the more clear that Dick’s body was giving out, his naturally thin frame having grown dangerously gaunt, dark bags encircling the once happy blue eyes, Bruce was growing increasingly worried.

Especially as he watched the footage of the last attack, watched as the skeletal form of his _son’s_ body massacred thousands of people. If they managed to somehow find him and get rid of the demon, Dick was going to be traumatized.

No.

Not if.   
  
_When._

He had to stay positive. Even if all clues led to dead ends, Bruce still needed to have hope. There was no way he could give up on Dick, not until all hope was completely lost. And as long as there were still signs of Dick being in there, all hope was not lost.

Pressing play, Bruce re-watched the last part of the security camera footage, watched as the demon strangled a child and then passed control over to Dick, watched the tears streaming down his youngest’s face, watched as he tried to bring the boy back to life, watched as he was unsuccessful, watched as he begged for the demon to stop, and, finally, watched as the demon took control again.

The video ended, and Bruce restarted it, eyes and ears absorbing as much as they possibly could from the grainy footage, searching for any kind of clue even though he knew all too well that none would be found.

In the three years of killings, no clues had ever been found.

“Bruce? You’ve been watching the same clip for nearly an hour.” Tim murmured, placing a steaming mug of coffee on the desk as he looked over Bruce’s shoulder, unable to stop the soft sound of horror that slipped from his lips. “Oh no… Dickie…”

“He’s looking worse, Tim. I–” Bruce cut himself off, words heavy with emotion, sipping the coffee in an attempt to suppress the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. “I can’t stop looking yet. He’s running out of time. If… if we don’t find him soon, there won’t be anything left for us to save.”

“I know that. I’ve been looking too. But you won’t be of much use to him half dead from exhaustion. It’s five in the morning and you’ve been awake for three days straight. Don’t even pretend that you haven’t, I checked the security cameras before coming down.” Tim leaned around Bruce, powering down the computer. “Go to bed, Bruce. Dick would want you to sleep.”

Bruce sighed, reluctantly extracting himself from his chair, his joints popping as he stood. “And what about you? Will you be sleeping?”

“Nah. I’ve gotten my hours in. I’ll take over the search.” Tim lifted his own mug of coffee, giving Bruce a reassuring smile as the older man headed up to bed. With a sigh of his own, Tim took Bruce’s vacated seat and rebooted the computer.

He replayed the footage of the attack, eyes locked onto the screen, continuing the search for a clue that, deep down, he knew would never come.

~•~

Red eyes glowed faintly from the shadow cast by his hood, the clothing providing a useful cover as Crimson roamed the streets of his next feasting ground.

Not that it would really matter if anyone noticed his eyes.

They would all be dead soon.

It was nice, walking amongst the weak humans, observing what they did with their pitiful lives. Honestly, it just made Crimson want to kill them all just that much more. Disgusting humans, with their disgusting little families and disgusting little jobs. Pathetic, really.

But that was okay… they served a purpose, and that purpose was to provide food for hungry demons like him.

He watched from under the shadows of his hood as a mother comforted her crying child, two more clinging to the woman’s legs like the little leeches that they truly were. Maybe he could kill the children slowly and make the mother watch? Yes, that could be nice. Or maybe he should kill the mother first and give the children a true reason to be crying.

Now that sounded like fun.

Crimson loved it when his victims cried. It was hilarious. Tears were such a stupid way of expressing emotion, although he also found emotions rather idiotic as well. In fact, Crimson thought most things humans did were rather simple and unrefined.

But that was okay.

Food did not need to be sophisticated.

It simply needed to be edible, and the humans in this city would definitely be edible.

Tongue flicking over his lips, Crimson continued to watch the family, their interactions distracting him enough to bump into someone, the hit hard enough to send him to the ground. He bit back a growl of annoyance as his gaze traveled up to meet the eyes of the man that had run into him. The food had _touched_ him. Disgusting.

And, to make matters worse, the food looked like it had some serious issues. It was horrifying to look at, and Crimson could not help but scrunch his nose up in distaste. However, even as he did so, he felt a twinge of recognition from his host’s mind. The boy knew this food.

Interesting.

“Are you okay, child? I’m so sorry… I should have been watching where I was going more carefully.” The food held out a hand, as if trying to help Crimson back up. It was offensive.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Crimson questioned, tilting his head to the side to appear more innocent as he scrambled back up to his feet, ignoring the food’s offered hand.

The food glanced down at himself before frowning. “This is my hero suit… I’m Superman.” He stated, lips twisting into a frown as he looked at Crimson in confusion. “How do you not know who I am? You’re in Metropolis… everyone knows Superman here.”

Crimson could not help but laugh at the food’s words. So, he was a hero, huh? That would explain his host’s reaction. This was going to be so much fun. “That’s got to be the lamest name ever… there’s nothing super about that outfit. It looks like you fled some kind of awful dance thingy. Are you _sure_ you’re a hero?”

The hero food looked offended. Good. Crimson wanted to offend him.

“That’s not very nice… aren’t you a little too young to be wandering around on your own anyway? Where are your parents?”

Curse his host’s tiny body.

Everyone always assumed he was young. Although, sometimes that did work in his favor, like this moment now.

The hero food was letting his guard down. Time to turn up the innocent kid act.

“I’m not a child. I’m old enough to do stuff on my own.” Crimson poured the pout into his voice, tone sounding whiney and annoying even to his own ears. Internally, he cringed. “I’ve never seen a superhero before… can I see your powers?”

“If I show you my powers, will you tell me where your parents are? It’s not safe for you to be out on the street like this. You could get hurt.” The hero food looked adequately enthralled after his childish tone, eyes softening as he gazed down at the demon in child’s form with actual concern. 

Beneath the shadows of his hood, Crimson grinned.

It worked. This hero food really was quite dumb.

Maybe he at least tasted good?

He better taste good, otherwise Crimson was actually going to murder someone.

Oh wait. He would murder everyone anyway.

“Oh, yes. Please. Show me your power, _Superman_.” Crimson’s eyes flared a deeper shade of glowing red, the color shining through the blackness of his shadows.

The hero food appeared adequately startled. “Um… kid? Your eyes are glowing red. Are you okay?”

Crimson giggled, color leeching from their surroundings as shadows crept forward along the ground, circling the demon’s feet and wrapping themselves around his legs and arms. “I’m perfect, actually. Just a bit _hungry_.” He pushed back the hood, letting the shadows fade from his face, revealing the gaunt visage of Richard Grayson. Except of course, it no longer belonged Richard Grayson.

No, this was the face of Crimson now.

And the hero food took a step back, eyes going wide, a hand raising to cover his mouth which was hanging open in shock.   
  
“D-Dick… it… it’s you. You’re…”

Crimson smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sorry, Dick Grayson can’t come to the phone right now. Or ever again, really.”

“You’re the demon.” The hero food spat, anger overtaking his shock. Good. Crimson wanted him to be angry. Crimson loved it when his food fought back. “You’re killing him. You killed so many people…”

“Eh. They were going to die eventually. I just made sure that their deaths were useful. They were all quite the yummy snacks, I must admit. But you… you’ll make for an even tastier meal.”

The hero food growled, fists clenching. “You will leave Dick’s body.”

“No thanks. It’s comfy in here.”

“Do not make me hurt you.”

“Awe~ You’re cute, for food.” Crimson cackled darkly, red eyes glowing brighter. Or maybe it was just the darkness growing around them, shadows swirling like a hungry pack of wolves, ready for blood. “You want the boy back? Come and take him. Bet you can’t~”

Maniacal laughter echoed through the streets as he lunged at the super food, oooh.

Super food.

Crimson was definitely going to use that for the next hero that he killed.

Anyway; maniacal laughter echoed through the streets as he lunched at the _super food_ , darkness enveloping them both, cradling Crimson like a fuzzy blanket even as it sliced into his food with a burning vengeance.

~•~

Tim stared at the screen like he had been doing for hours, eyes bloodshot and half closed with exhaustion. He had moved on to looking at older footage, trying to figure out how much time his brother could have. It was not looking good.

His head nodded slightly before he jerked it upright again, mumbling a soft curse. He needed more coffee.

Standing slowly so as not to risk a blackout, Tim picked up his mug and started toward the elevator.

He was mere seconds away from getting on when the alert sounded.

The mug dropped and shattered against the floor, but Tim could worry about that later.

That alert only meant one thing.

A Leaguer had come in contact with Dick.

He could save his baby brother.


	4. Murdery shadow boy

Shadows enveloped the city as the two super-powered people fought for victory, one large and bulky, dressed in a horrible looking body suit, the other small and skinny, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans.

If hero outfits were anything to go by, then Superman had it in the bag, after all, he did have a cape. However, it was quickly growing clear that capes did not prove power, as Crimson was doing just fine in his hoodie and even seemed to be gaining the upper hand.

“Ready to die, Superturd? I think you would look so much better as a pile of bloody bones and guts~” Crimson taunted, lips twisted into an ever creepier smile as he launched shadows at the food, the spears of darkness hardening as they neared the hero, ready to taste his blood.

The man of steel dodged the shadows, narrowing his eyes at the boy. “You will not kill me. Dick won’t let you. I will save him from you.”

Crimson cackled, the horrible sound sending chills down Superman’s back. “Awe~ How sweet, thinking that the little bird is alive enough to help you. He’s not. In fact, you’re weakening him further by fighting me. Do you want to be responsible for the boy’s death? Sure you don’t just wanna sit back and let me kill you?”

“You’re lying.” Superman spat, although he did pause at Crimson’s words, the moment of hesitation more than enough for Crimson’s shadows to strike. One speared through his shoulder, red lightning crackling through the shadow storm as Crimson’s eyes glowed brighter.

The demon licked his lips, watching in amusement as the super food stumbled. “Mmm… I’ve never tasted Kryptonian blood before. I like it. Give me more.”

Superman gritted his teeth, his wound remaining completely unhealed even after the shadows moved away. “What did you do?” He asked, taking a shaky step forward only to find his knees buckling. It was nearly all he could do to stay upright. This was not normal. He had never faced anything like this before.

“Oh? That? Nothing, really… just me stealing your blood and absorbing your powers. No biggy.” Crimson smirked at him, lunging for the hero with new strength and vigor.

Superman barely managed to dodge the attack, sweat beading on his brow as he sprung into the air. If he could just fly away… regain some strength…

Crimson’s laugh echoed behind the hero, shadows enveloping the boy as he too flew upward, the darkness leeching away any sunlight, leaving the hero completely surrounded and unable to absorb sunlight to regenerate.

They flew higher, and yet the shadows continued to hide the sun, the increasing altitude doing little to hinder the demon as he pursued the ever-weakening Superman. The hero dodged and weaved, but the shadows were faster, and each strike left him more drained than the last.

Although Superman was considered one of the powerhouses of the Justice League, he really was no match for the demon, especially since his own attacks seemed to do little in the way of slowing Crimson down.

He could not use deadly force, could not risk seriously injuring Dick, and that put him at an even more serious disadvantage. This was not going to end well.

“You should give up, Supes. I really don’t think being a hero is your calling. You should totally look into journalism. And maybe a pair of glasses.” Crimson snickered, tossing more shadow blades toward the weakening hero.

Superman grimaced as the shadows cut into his thigh, barely managing to dodge away from the rest. He did his best not to show how shocked he was at the demon’s words. Did this mean that he had full access to Dick’s memories? That could be dangerous.

If Crimson did know his true identity, then that meant he also knew the identities of most if not all of the Justice League. Superman needed to take him down.

He began to fight with renewed vigor, no longer holding back in fear of hurting Dick. Crimson knew too much. Dick would understand. Or at least, that was what Superman used to reassure himself. “I’m sorry, Dick…”

“Awe~ Why so distraught, super food?” Crimson laughed, raising his arms as shadows writhed in the air around him, building up in one massive wave. “Get traught or get dead. The little bird liked that phrase, didn’t he?” He launched the shadows at the superhero, cackling darkly as darkness enveloped his meal.

The food struggled as the shadows seeped into his body and stole his will to live, absorbing his remaining powers as he plummeted to the ground.

This was the end.   
  
Superman knew it.

Crimson knew it.

The helpless people of the city knew it.

As the shadows writhed around Superman’s body, feeding off him like some kind of malignant parasite, darkness spread across the city.

Crimson had won.

And yet, even as the shadows began their deadly decent, seeking out more victims, a loud chanting filled the air and light burst forth amidst the darkness.

Four figures emerged from the shadows, light spreading out around them in a protective barrier. Three were dressed distinctly similar, with dark hero suits and masks, however, the fourth was the one that Crimson truly noticed, for it was from him that the light was spreading.

A magician.

Of course there just had to be a stupid magician.

With a growl of annoyance, Crimson urged his shadow’s forward, attacking the light with a newfound vehemence. He would not let a stupid magician ruin his meal.

However, the shadows seemed to have little to no effect against the barrier of light, and, in fact, the light was spreading outward, protecting his food from him.   
  
To say that Crimson was not pleased was an understatement.

And now his host was stirring, fighting him for control like he had not done since the very beginning.   
  
Why? Why was the boy stirring?

Crimson’s eyes narrowed as he gazed down at the people inside the barrier, focusing in on his host’s feelings of distress.

_So that was it._

The three dressed similarly were his family.

Crimson could use that.

He lowered himself to the ground, letting his eyes shift blue as he made himself stumble toward the barrier, putting on his best ‘I’m terrified, come save me’ look.

It worked.

The one dressed mainly in red rushed toward him, expression clearly concerned behind his mask.

“Dick? Can you… can you hear me?”

“I-I’m holding him off… I can’t– I can’t hold him off for much longer.” Crimson stuttered, face twisting in pain as he gripped the sides of his head, fighting the urge to snicker. These humans really were idiots.

The hero cursed, glancing back at the others. “Batman… we need to hurry.”

Crimson coughed, stumbling forward again and into the barrier, slumping his body against it even though he could not enter. _Stupid magician_ was keeping him out. “Please– I can’t–”

“Red Robin! Stay back!”

It was too late. The hero had already reached past the barrier in an attempt to help him, and Crimson’s eyes glowed red once more as he latched onto the hero’s arm, yanking him the rest of the way out from the barrier.

“Stupid food… The boy is not coming to the surface any time soon.” Crimson hissed, shadows swirling up around them and restraining the hero easily.

“Shut up! He’s in there. I know he’s in there. Dick, you can fight this.” The hero insisted, tone desperate and pleading.

It was annoying that Crimson could feel his host pushing back against him, urged on by the hero’s pleas. The others were yelling now too, the magician chanting louder, but Crimson blocked them off, shadows rising higher around him and his new prisoner. He knew what would make his host go quiet again.

He just needed to teach the little bird a lesson.

And what better lesson could there be but killing an older bird?

“Dick, come on. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Just fight it a bit longer.”

“You’re getting annoying, food. I think it’s about time we shut you up. Your friends can do nothing to help you. The boy can do nothing to help you. You will die, and he will be the one to blame.” Crimson hissed, shadows turning into spikes behind him. He raised his hand, preparing to impale the hero like he had with the super food.

Except, he found himself unable to move his hand. And then, the rest of his body became immobile. The boy really was putting up a fight. Crimson had not thought that he had this much energy left.

“B-Batman … I can’t… I c-can’t hold him back much l-longer. W-whatever you have planned…” The words were spoken through gritted teeth, strained and clearly a struggle, but they were discernable.

“Stupid boy! I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all for this!” Crimson screeched, and, although both were speaking through the same mouth, it was clear that Crimson had more control. Even as he spoke, he began to regain control of the body, his fingers twitching, mere seconds away from gesturing the shadow spikes forward and into the annoying hero’s chest.

The chanting from inside the barrier grew even louder, light snaking out from the barrier and toward Crimson.

If the boy would just stop fighting back, he could demolish them easily…

But the boy was still fighting.

It was as if time stood still in that moment, the ropes of light seconds away from wrapping around his arm, all of Crimson’s focus concentrated on simply regaining control of the arm so that he could kill the hero, all of his willpower centered on breaking his host’s resolve.

The boy’s grip over his body shattered, and everything jumped back into action as Crimson flicked his wrist forward, spikes shooting toward the hero even as the chanting reached a deafening roar and he was enveloped in light. Someone was shouting, panicked words making Crimson smirk from behind the barrier of light that now surrounded him.   
  
Sure, he had been captured, but the sight of the hero sprawled out on the ground, blood seeping from his body in a steadily growing pool was enough to satisfy him.

As the heroes moved around frantically, Crimson laughed.

They might have captured him, but in doing so, they had allowed him to completely break his host.

The heroes would never get their friend back; not if the barely flickering remnant of Richard Grayson’s consciousness was anything to go by.


	5. Batsy had a little bird

“Bleeding, bleeding little human, how I wonder how you taste! Up above the world so high, like a de–”

“Would you just shut up already?” The super food snapped, storming up to the cell that they had put Crimson in, heavily enchanted so he was unable to use his powers. “Even Dick wasn’t this annoying when we first got him, and he was eight.”

Crimson simply smirked, sticking out his tongue and continuing to sing. “Like a dead bat in the sky. Bleeding, bleeding little human, how I wonder how you taste!”

“Can I knock him out Bruce?”

The bat dude, Bruce, shook his head, walking to stand next to the other hero. “You just need to have patience, Damian. Try to remember that Dick’s in there… somewhere. Harming the demon will only hurt Dick.”

“Baa, baa, black bat, have you any wings? Imma rip ‘em off until they bleed~” Crimson sang louder, smacking his head back against the wall.

So, they did not want to hurt his body?

Too bad… he could hurt it just fine without them.

Blood was dripping down his face by the time the Bat-food decided to put him in a straightjacket and chain him far away from the walls.

~•~

The food had left him alone for a while, something that Crimson found particularly amusing. For people so seemingly intent on saving his host, they were doing a horrible job of actually trying to save the little bird.

Crimson could feel the boy fading away more and more by the day.

Not that he cared.

No, he was ready to be done with his host. The boy’s body had grown increasingly feeble, and with the enchantments on the cell, Crimson was actually struggling to maintain the boy’s life. His power had been what was keeping the bird alive for so long, because he was building up power to create his own solid form.

Now all that stored power was going to waste, and his host was dying.

It did not matter really though… all Crimson needed to do was wait for the right moment. He was sure he could convince one of the Bat-food to enter his cell alone and killing one would provide enough power for him to escape.

All he needed to do was wait.

If he was annoying enough, the food would eventually come.

“Batsy had a little bird, little bird, little bird. Batsy had a little bird, its skin was soaked in blood. And everywhere that Batsy went, Batsy went, Batsy went, and everywhere that Batsy went, the bird was sure to die. The birdie followed him to work one day, work one day, work one day, the birdie followed him to work one day, which led to a broken skull. Now there is no birdy here, birdy here, birdy here, now there is no birdy here, a demon ate his soul.”

~•~

Damian’s fist slammed onto the desk, a mug toppling off and shattering on the floor.

“Damian, that’s the fifth one this week. It’s only Tuesday.” Bruce chided, stepping around the shards with a sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s singing again. The same thing. Over and over again.” Damian gritted out, narrowing his eyes at the screen, watching as the body of his younger brother rocked back and forth, lips twisted into a sick grin as he sang his demented nursery rhymes. “What if the demon’s right? What if Dick really is gone?”

“He’s not gone. We saw him regain control during the fight, remember?”

“Yeah, but… but then he lost control again and the demon nearly killed Tim. That _thing_ killed Superman. _Superman_ , Bruce.”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head, his own eyes trained on the screen, normally stoic expression slipping into one of tired sadness. “We revived him. You know that.”

“Sure, but he still killed him. Superman is the strongest fighter in the Justice League. If that thing can take him down like that… well… we need to plan what to do if Zatara can’t bring Dick back.” Damian turned away, hiding his own saddened expression. As much as he practiced tough love with his younger brothers, he truly did care. To watch his baby brother so clearly hurting, so clearly _broken_ , hurt. It hurt a lot.

“Not yet. Zatara has to fail to bring him back first.”

“Right…”

The two fell into silence as they continued to watch the screen, chills racing down both their spines as Crimson turned his head to glare up at the camera, red eyes glowing brightly in the darkness of his cell, an eerie laugh echoing through the speakers.

Bruce turned the computer off.

“Should we send Tim down? If Dick’s still in there, it might help to see that he’s okay.” Damian turned, to look at his father with a sigh, noting the bags under the older male’s eyes, tired marks that were probably mirrored on his own face.

“I’ll ask. He’s still recovering though. If Dick hadn’t held the demon off… it would not have ended well.” Bruce gave Damian a reassuring smile, although both knew better than to believe it. “Just make sure to clean up the mug. The last thing we need is someone stepping on it.”

~•~

“I’m fine, Bruce, Damian. Seriously. You two just… wait out here or whatever.” Tim insisted, narrowing his eyes at his father and older brother. “We all know I’m the least likely to get riled up, and he can’t escape the cell. It’ll be alright.”

“Fine. But if it even seems like things are going badly, we’re coming in.” Bruce said, crossing his arms over his chest. Damian copied the action, and Tim could not help but snort out a laugh.

“You two seriously are too similar. Seriously. Just chill. It’ll be fine.”

With a small wave, Tim limped away from the two brooding family members, doing his best to straighten his shoulders and hide his limp. He had made sure to style his hair like normal and wear long sleeves to cover his bandages, figuring that the less injured he looked, the more reassured Dick would be.

_If Dick was even still in there._

He shook his head to rid himself of the negative thoughts, forcing a smile onto his lips as he approached the cell. The eerie singing stopped when the demon saw Tim, glowing red eyes fixed intently on the visitor.

“You’re not dead… disappointing.”

“So… you prefer to go by Crimson?” Tim asked, doing his best to sound nonchalant and to ignore the demon’s words as he lowered himself to the ground a few feet away from the bars.

“The food started calling me that… I have grown fond of it.”

Forcing a laugh, Tim nodded. “Right… okay. So, Crimson, can I speak with Dick?”

“Awe~ You mean you still believe that he’s around? The boy wasted his last energy on protecting you. A pity, really. I do so enjoy this body.” Crimson smirked, tongue flicking out over his lips as he eyed Tim hungrily. “Although I wouldn’t mind taking yours…”

“No thanks. I’m good without the demonic possession.” Tim’s mind was running a thousand miles a second as he mulled over the demon’s words. Was Dick truly gone? He could not be, right? He had seemed weak when he appeared, but still… he could not be _that_ weak yet, right? “You would not be able to still possess him if he was dead.”

 _Please let that be true_.

Crimson snickered, shifting forward, the chains around his wrists and ankles clanking ominously. “You really do know nothing, _human_. You will never get the boy back, and soon you will be too. Soon you will all be gone.”

Tim fought back a grin. “You did not directly deny it. He is in there somewhere, isn’t he?”

“The boy is as good as dead. He is never coming back.”

“As good as dead. Meaning that he is not dead yet. Dick is still in there. He might be weak, he might be suffering, but he’s alive. And he’s strong.” Tim insisted, standing carefully, his eyes burning with passion. “Mark my words, demon. You messed with the wrong family when you took him. That boy has the protection of an entire League of heroes who will not rest until he is free. You have lost. It’s just a matter of time.”  
  
Snickers turned into full cackling laughter as Crimson tossed his head back, clearly thoroughly amused. “Time is what he does not have. Each moment you wait, the boy fades even further. You will not save him in time.”

“Yes. We will.” Turning on his heel, Tim left the cell behind, ignoring the demon cackling behind him. His expression was grim as he reunited with the others. “He’s alive. But we’re running out of time.”


	6. Fate takes over

The silence was practically deafening, all eyes trained on the pacing figure dressed in black. Even Flash was silent, and that alone was a major accomplishment. Batman was practically radiating frustration, glare even more intense as he turned to stare intently at his fellow Leaguers.

“We cannot wait on this any longer. My son is _dying_ , and I will not let that happen. Zatara, can you or can you not help? Dick does not have time for maybes.”

Zatara sighed, avoiding Batman’s gaze by staring down at his hands. “None of my research has yielded useful results. This area of magic is not a normal part of my expertise. I simply do not have the power or understanding needed to cast out a demon of that magnitude. As it is, we are fortunate to have been able to restrain him at all. I’m sorry, Batman… I will continue my search.”

Batman cursed, shaking his head and returning to pacing the room. “There has to be _something_ we can do.”

“There is one thing… we have the Helmet of Fate at the Mountain. As a Lord of Order, Nabu would most likely have the power to exorcise the demon.”

“No.” Wonder Woman spoke up, shaking her head emphatically. “If you don the Helmet, Zatara, Nabu will most likely not let you go. That is not something we can risk.”

“Wonder Woman is right… as powerful as Nabu is, he is too much of a wildcard. It would be unwise.” Black Canary agreed, brows furrowed in thought as she watched Batman’s pacing grow more agitated. “Please, Batman, sit down. We can work something out… at the very least, maybe we can restrain the demon enough to put him on a drip to help with the deteri–”

Batman’s fist slammed down onto the table, the sound cutting off Canary mid-sentence. “Have you not been paying attention? It’s not just his body that’s failing. He’s been stuck in there so long that his mind is going too. At this rate even if we do get the demon out, there won’t be any of my son left to fix.” He took in a breath, eyes meeting those of Zatara’s as his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

“I won’t ask you to become Fate. You have your own daughter to worry about, and as a father, I cannot ask you to sacrifice yourself for my child. But I will ask you, ask all of you,” his eyes scanned the room, tired gaze meeting each and every Leaguer’s, one by one, “to continue looking. My boy served the League and our world for years. He is… was… a good hero. This happened to him while on a mission that _we_ sent him on. The least we can do is do everything in our power to free him.”

And with that, Batman turned on his heel and stormed from the meeting room, quickly enough that the rest of the Justice League were unable to see the frustrated tears gathering in his eyes.

His son was _hurting_ , and Bruce would do anything to get him back.

 _Anything_.

~•~

Zatara’s frowned as his fingers brushed over the cold metal of the Helmet of Fate, a soft sigh slipping from his lips. He knew the risks that revolved around wearing the Helmet, knew that if he put it on, he would most likely never be able to take it off. But he also knew that what Bruce had said was right.

Dick had been possessed due to the League’s negligence. It was up to them to remedy this issue, and, as the main person capable of dealing with demonic forces, that meant that Zatara needed to take action.

Besides, as a father, he knew all too well how Bruce was feeling. If something like this had happened to Zatanna… no, he could not even bear the thought of it. Bruce had already bad to live through the death of one of his children, and that had nearly demolished the hero. Then again, he had been devastated when Dick had been taken.

Bruce had never been the same after Dick’s disappearance, and that in turn affected the League. With Superman still out of commission and Batman distracted, earth was vulnerable. And, as a hero, that was not something Zatara could simply ignore.

Which led to why he had visited the Mountain after the meeting with the League. Under the pretext of checking the security, Zatara had made his way into the trophy room, drawn to the Helmet of Fate as if it too knew what needed to be done.

“Dad?”

Turning, Zatara smiled fondly at his daughter. “Zatanna.” He opened his arms, and his daughter stepped into them, leaning into his embrace. “I need to discuss something with you.”

Zatanna pulled back, eyes moving from Zatara to the Helmet of Fate. “You’re thinking about putting it on, aren’t you? This is about saving Dick, isn’t it? Wally said Flash told him that you guys had found him.”

“Sometimes I wonder how you got so smart.” Zatara murmured, ruffling his daughter’s hair as he nodded. “He’s dying, Zatanna. We’re not going to be able to find another way fast enough. Even now, he might not be able to recover. He’s so young… younger than you. He does not deserve to go through this. I… I can help.”

“But if you do help, you’ll be gone, won’t you? You’d be rescuing him from possession only to be possessed yourself.”

“Technically, it isn’t possession with Nabu… I would agree to it. But yes… if I don the Helmet, Fate will likely not let me go.”

Zatanna took in a slow breath, tilting her head back to meet her father’s gaze. “You’re willing to do that? To sacrifice yourself… to sacrifice everything to save Dick? Even though he might not be able to recover?”

“I will not do it if you tell me not to. But yes. Even if he may not recover, I believe he at least deserves the chance to do so. Besides, this is not all about Dick… with Superman out of commission and regenerating in his fortress, the world needs Batman to be on the alert. He has already suffered the loss of one son. I… I am afraid that losing another would break him. The world _needs_ Batman more than it needs Zatara. The League needs a focused leader.”

“ _I_ need Zatara. I need my father.” Zatanna whispered, shaking her head and hugging her father tighter, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She needed to be strong. What her father was saying made sense. This was the burden of being a hero. “But, I understand that this is something that needs to be done. I… I love you, dad.”

Zatara clutched his daughter close, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, my child. I am so proud of who you have become. You will be a great hero someday.”

Their embrace lasted for several long moments before Zatanna slowly pulled back, picking the Helmet off the shelf and placing it in her father’s hands with a sad smile. “Go. Be a hero.”

And, with one last embrace, Zatara left.

Zatanna watched him go, waiting until he was out of earshot until she let the tears spill forth, sinking to her knees on the cold floor as she wrapped her arms around herself, knowing all too well that she had just seen her father for the last time.

~•~

“Great. The magician has come back to bother me again. What do you want this time, oh magical one?” Crimson snarked, spitting in the magician’s general direction, red eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why are you holding a helmet?”

The magician food looked grim as he lifted the helmet, staring down at the gold metal. “I have come to put an end to you… once and for all.”

“Oh, suuure. Like you could.” The demon snorted, rolling his eyes even as he eyed the helmet with growing suspicion. That looked like… but no. It could not be. Right? There was no way this magician would sacrifice himself just to get rid of Crimson… Right? “Whatever you have planned, you might want to give it up. Even if you get rid of me, the boy will not be able to recover. He’s doomed.”

“Richard Grayson is strong. He will make it out of this. I have faith in him.” The magician food responded, watching Crimson with a cool resolve as he slowly slipped the helmet down onto his head. “You will regret possessing one of our own.”

Light filled the room, and Crimson flinched back, hissing in disapproval. “Dude. Seriously? Mind the brightness, would ya? Some of us are light sensitive here.”

“Be quiet, Demon. I am Nabu, Lord of Order, and _you_ do not belong here.”

Well then.

That was definitely not the voice of the magician food.

A brilliant beam of light hit Crimson in the chest, his back arching as pain radiated through his body. It was too bright. Too _light_. His eyes began to glow brighter red as he fought against the invasive power, fought to maintain a hold of the human body, but it was in vain.

A loud, bloodcurdling, scream ripped through the boy’s body as darkness flowed out of him, pouring from his nose and mouth in shadowy ripples, pooling onto the floor around him, the pool growing larger and larger, until the scream cut off, the final vestiges of darkness slipping from the boy’s lips, his body collapsing lifeless to the floor.

The shadows whirled, taking on a vaguely humanoid form as they swept toward the cell bars, red lightning crackling within the pure darkness.

It did not get very far as a second beam of light pierced through the veil of darkness, the shadows dispersing under the onslaught of pure brightness, the demon’s shadows disintegrating into nothingness.

Fate watched as the demon was vanquished, nodding approvingly before turning on his heel to leave, only to be met with the startled faces of Bruce and Damian.   
  
“Zatara?” Bruce asked, quick to straighten his stance and return to his generally emotionless expression.

“Zatara is gone now. I am Fate.” Fate stated calmly, stepping around the heroes. “The demon has been neutralized.”

“And Dick?”

Fate shrugged. “The boy is none of my concern. My job here is done.”

Bruce did not wait for the Lord of Order to leave, rushing instead to the side of his youngest. Fingers pressing against the boy’s neck, Bruce felt for a pulse, whispering prayers under his breath.

_There._

Faint, unsteady, and rapidly fading, but there, nonetheless.

“Damian. I need you to call an ambulance. We need to get him to hospital immediately. Explanations can wait until after he’s stabilized.” Bruce ordered, slipping into his Batman headspace as he gathered the boy into his arms, wincing at how incredibly light he felt.

He needed to stay calm.

Dick needed him to stay calm.

 _Dick_.

He would not let his son die.

He would not lose another child.

He refused to.


	7. Lost in the shadows

_“It’s not looking good. His heart has stopped three times already…”_

Tim had refused to be left at home, even though he was still recovering from when Crimson had almost killed him. Now, nearly two days into the hospital stay, he was beginning to wish that the chairs were more comfortable. Not that he was about to leave though. No, he would stay for as long as it took for Dick to be stabilized.

_“I don’t know what happened to him, but it’s as if everything just gave out at once. Heart failure, lung failure, kidney failure… Nothing is working as it should be. We have never seen a case like this before…”_

They had not been allowed to see Dick since he had first been rushed into surgery upon arrival. According to the doctors, surgeries were still taking place. The updates on Dick were growing less and less frequent, and Tim was starting to worry that maybe they had been too slow; that it was too late to save his baby brother.

“Coffee?” Damian’s tired eyes met his own as the older male took the seat beside him, holding out a thermos. “Alfred dropped it off after I told him how bad the stuff here is.”

“Thanks…” Tim took the thermos, taking a grateful sip of the still steaming beverage. “You missed Bruce fighting the doctors again.”

Damian snorted, shaking his head with a sigh. “Father is understandably upset… I am worried about Grayson as well.”

“We all are. But fighting with the doctors trying to save his life isn’t going to help.”

“He would not have to worry about doctors if he would just let me contact my mother.”

Tim frowned. This had been brought up a few times already, and each time him and Bruce had responded with the same answer. “You know that isn’t an option. You know what the Lazarus Pit did to Jason.”

“Todd was crazy from the start. I do not believe Grayson will have those issues.” Damian insisted, glancing back toward the hallway that led to the surgery rooms. “I was there when they gave Father the full details of everything. He’s not going to make it, Drake.”

“No. Don’t say that. He will make it. Dick is strong.” Frowning, Tim reached for his older brother, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Damian. Dick made it this far. He kept me from being killed. He… he can push through this. We just have to have faith in him.”

Damian grunted softly but did not push Tim’s hand away.

That alone was enough to show Tim exactly how worried his brother was.

“It’ll be okay. We just… we just need to trust the doctors and believe in Dick.” He repeated, shifting closer until he could rest his head on Damian’s shoulder, knowing that while the other male would never admit it, he needed the comfort.

Slowly, Damian stretched his arm out and wrapped it around Tim’s shoulders, bringing the shorter male in closer. “Right… he is a pretty tough kid. And we’ll be here to protect him and take care of him once he’s better. Never gonna let him out of my sight ever again.”

Tim laughed sadly, nodding. “He’s going to be so annoyed. It’ll be adorable.”

“Well, if he is annoyed, it’ll be his own fault. He’s the one who went and got himself possessed. We’re allowed to make sure that he’s okay.”

“Yup. Hey… Damian?”

“Yes, Drake?”

“Do we tell Jason about this? Dick… Dick probably still thinks he’s dead.”

Damian frowned, a quiet sigh leaving his lips as he shrugged. “I… I am not sure. For now, I think it would be for the best to leave Todd in the dark. He is too unstable at the moment. It would not be wise to tell him and have him barging in and scaring or surprising Richard.”

Tim sighed as well, taking a long sip from his thermos. “You have a point. We can talk to Bruce about it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, Tim’s head still resting on Damian’s shoulder, Damian’s arm staying wrapped around his younger brother. Together, they would stay there for as long as they needed to. There would be no leaving until Dick Grayson was stabilized and doing okay.

So, they waited, not caring as bags darkened under their eyes and their clothes grew wrinkled from days of wear.

They waited for news that their baby brother would be alright.

~•~

Bruce was the first one allowed in to see Dick, something that he was immensely grateful for.

He had known that it would be bad, had seen enough of how thin Dick had become when the demon was still inhabiting his body, but it was still a shock.

The boy looked so _fragile_ , as if one stray gust of wind could tear him apart.

“Oh, Dick…” Bruce whispered, voice choked with emotion as he came to stand at his son’s bedside, eyes taking in the protruding bones and skin so pale it was nearly translucent. Dick’s eyes were closed, the doctors had said he was comatose, but Bruce was almost comforted that he could not see the brilliant blue, for he knew that the liveliness and joy that used to reside there was long gone.

His boy’s body might be broken, but he was even more concerned about his spirit. There was no doubt in Bruce’s mind that Dick was going to be seriously traumatized. Even if he ended up recovering physically, Bruce doubted that Dick would ever truly be the same.

It was his duty as a father to make sure that his son had the best chance at recovery.

“You can come out now.”

J’onn, also known as Martian Manhunter, materialized into view, his expression saddened as he looked down at the young hero on the bed. “Are you sure this is something you want to do?”

“Yes. I need to see what happened. I won’t be able to help him if I don’t know everything that’s wrong.” Bruce murmured, reaching down to brush a tender hand across Dick’s cheek. “Are you sure you can’t just block it all out?”

“I am sure. It is never a good thing to hide someone’s memories from them… that will only lead to him panicking and feeling confused.” J’onn confirmed, sighing quietly as he moved in closer, placing his hand on Dick’s forehead. “It is hard to sense him… like he’s almost not even there at all…”

Bruce frowned at that, eyes narrowing. “Does that mean we can’t enter his mind?”  
  
“No. We can… I… I think it is even more important to do so now, actually. I am unsure if he’ll be able to wake up on his own with how suppressed his mind is.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s do this then.”

J’onn nodded, clasping Bruce’s shoulder as his eyes glowed green.

~•~

It was cold. So, so, so incredibly cold.

But Dick had grown used to the cold.

That and the darkness.

Everything was always so dark.

He had grown used to that too.

He had had to grow used to it.

After all, it surrounded him in every moment, swirling like a malicious fog, suffocating and deadly.

Dick had learned the hard way what happened if he tried to fight the darkness.

The darkness had changed recently, but Dick knew better than to question it.   
  
Curled up in a dark corner of his mind, surrounded by darkness, Dick was quite literally alone with his thoughts.

Well…

Not really thoughts.

Memories assaulted him in waves, nightmare image after nightmare image playing on repeat as they had been years.

In his mind, he was younger, more vulnerable.

All he had for comfort was a battered and torn Batman plushie which he clutched tightly to his chest, tears soaking into the toy.

He had tried to stay strong at the start, had tried to fight and to hold on as long as possible, hoping that someone, _anyone_ , would have come to rescue him, but that never happened.

As days turned into years, his mind became more and more vulnerable, worn down by trauma and constant torment.

It was easier to sink into a younger age, easier to avoid the pain of seeing people hurt.

Especially after what had happened with Clark and Tim.

He sniffled softly, pressing his face further into the Batman plushie as soft sobs wracked his small frame.

The darkness shifted ever so slightly, and Dick flinched back, hugging the toy even tighter to his chest. “W-who’s there?”

“Dick?”

That was a voice he knew.

But it could not belong to the man who he truly wanted it to.

Crimson had done this trick before, after all.

It was never actually Bruce.

He stayed silent, even as the calls came closer, back pressed up against the wall.

Wait… wall?

Normally he was surrounded by empty darkness, an endless void that led nowhere and yet everywhere. This was not normal.

Even less normal was the fact that the shadows seemed to be lessening, two shinning figures stepping out of the darkness and coming to a stop right outside the bars of his cell.

 _Cell_. _Bars_.

Dick slowly lifted his gaze to the men’s faces, eyes widening as he realized who exactly was standing in front of him. “T-Tati? Uncle J’onn?”

“I’m here, Dick.” Bruce reassured, the bars fading away as he stepped closer.

Standing on wobbly legs, Dick launched himself at the man, hot tears falling down his cheeks as he was wrapped up in his father’s embrace. “Y-you came.” He whispered, fingers clutching tightly to Bruce’s shirt, terrified that if he did let him go, he would once again be gone forever.

Bruce held Dick equally tightly, lifting the small child until he was holding him comfortably, rocking him gently back and forth. “Shhh… it’s okay. You’re safe now. I will always come for you, Dickie-bird. _Always_.”

The words were comforting, sending warmth piercing through the layers of cold that had enveloped Dick through the years, shadows melting underneath that radiating warmth until the room was brightly lit, revealing Dick’s bedroom at the Wayne Manor.

As the darkness faded, Dick’s young body too began to change, shifting taller and lankier until he appeared as he had when he was possessed. Carefully, Bruce set the boy onto his own feet before stepping back.

Dick frowned ever so slightly, eyes narrowing as he looked over Bruce and J’onn. “You’re in my mind. Why are you both in my mind? It isn’t… it isn’t safe with _him_ here.”

“The demon is gone, Dick. Zatara got rid of it. You’re free.” Bruce informed him, still keeping an arm wrapped around Dick as if worried that he might suddenly disappear. “You are currently in Gotham Central being treated. I asked J’onn to bring me into your mind in an attempt to both see what had happened and to help bring you back.”

“Your consciousness was extremely suppressed. I doubt if you would have been able to make it back on your own.” J’onn confirmed, smiling gently at Dick. “I am glad to see you again.”

Dick returned the smile with a weary one of his own. “Thanks, I guess… but… how much did you see? Bruce, I–” He shook his head, glancing up at his father worriedly. “There’s a lot of that I don’t want anyone seeing. Not… n-not yet.”

“We did not get very far. Finding you was a much more pressing issue.” Bruce admitted, ruffling Dick’s hair with a soft sigh. “I was worried about you. Tim, Damian… Alfred… we’ve all been worried. I hope you know that you’re never going to be let out of the house again.”

“Hmph. We’ll see about that.” Dick laughed, but the sound was sad, broken.

As clear as it was that he was happy to see Bruce and J’onn, it was equally clear that this was not the same Richard Grayson who had been lost. Everyone’s favorite bird had lost its wings, and Bruce could only pray that he would be able to teach him a new way to fly.

“You ready to wake up?” Bruce asked, darting a look over at J’onn who nodded solemnly. “Alfred needs someone to eat all of the food he’s been stress cooking.”

Slowly, Dick’s lips quirked upward into a forced smile. “Well, I guess that’s a mission I can help with.”

And so, J’onn placed his hands on both their shoulders, eyes glowing green.

Dick knew immediately upon waking up that he was on some serious drugs. Everything felt hazy and numb, and as he blinked his eyes open, he was honestly not surprised that everything was distorted and fuzzy.

He felt a hand press against his shoulder and squeeze gently, and then a blurry figure moved into view, slowly coming into focus as he leaned down. “T-Tati…” He whispered, voice cracked and hoarse.

“I’m here, Dick. I’m here. You’re going to be okay.”


	8. Home sweet home

Dick was starting to feel more than a little bit claustrophobic. Sure, he was in a fairly large hospital room, but the space seemed incredibly small now that it was crowded with Bruce, Alfred, Damian, and Tim along with three doctors and a nurse. Because apparently Bruce did not trust just one doctor to give a proper prognosis.

This was so stupid.

It had been a day since he had awoken and everything still felt hazy, although, from what Bruce had told him, he should probably be thankful for the haze. Haziness was better than pain.

Tim reached for him, resting a hand on Dick’s shoulder and squeezing tightly as the head doctor began to speak.

“I would like to start this off by saying that we have done everything in our power to correct the issues that Mr. Grayson arrived with. That being said, many of the problems cannot be fixed. The human body has limitations in its ability to heal.”

Well darn. If that was how the doctor started, Dick was not excited to see how this conversation ended. He glanced up at Bruce, noting how tired and worried his mentor looked. To be fair on Bruce though, the others did not look much better. Dick would just have to do everything in his power not to react to whatever the doctor said.

He could not worry his family even more.

“It’s fine. I know I’m probably never going to be the same. Just… just tell me what’s wrong.” Dick told the doctors, giving Bruce a weak smile when the older male glanced down at him in concern. He needed to be strong for his family. His own worries and fears could be dealt with once he was on his own. There was no need to bother them with it.

The doctors nodded. “Alright. We have done our best to stabilize your heart and major bodily functions, however, your body has undergone severe and lasting strain. Modern medicine can only go so far, and… well… at this point, we are simply delaying the inevitable. The chances of you surviving more than a few months are slim to none. That being said, with the proper care and treatment, that could very well be extended. It is all about monitoring your condition and reacting accordingly.”

Tim’s hand was tightening on his shoulder, tight enough that the grip was beginning to hurt. Dick reached up, placing a shaky hand atop that of his older brother’s. Tim’s grip loosened.

“With proper care and rest, what are his chances of living to adulthood?” Bruce asked, tone cold and harsh. Dick knew him well enough at this point to know that Bruce was putting on a mask. There was no way Bruce Wayne would risk breaking down in front of some random hospital doctors… although they probably were not that random.

Without a doubt, Dick knew that Bruce had vetted them carefully and had probably even flown them in from around the world to get him the best possible care. It felt strange, to know these things so easily, to see Bruce’s reactions and know the true meaning behind them.

Dick had missed it. He had missed his family so incredibly much. Enough that just having them around him again was enough to take his mind off what the doctors were saying. It would process later. Dick knew that it would. And when it did process, it would hurt.

It would hurt a lot.

But he would handle it then.

Besides… did it really matter if he was destined to die? He deserved to die. He had let himself be possessed and his body had gone on a killing rampage. His death would serve as justice for the thousands that he had killed.

The doctor’s next words, “ _Very slim, I’m afraid_ ,” went in through one ear and out the other as Dick slumped back against the bed even more, eyes drifting away from the doctors to focus instead on examining the faces of his family members.

They were so clearly concerned. So clearly worried and terrified and… and Dick _hated_ it.

They should not have to worry about him.

No one should have to worry about him.

_He was a villain. He deserved this._

He had been possessed. He had had no control over his actions.

_He had killed them all. It was all his fault._

He had fought against the demon as much as he could, at least in the beginning.

_His struggles were not good enough. He had been too weak to save them._

Dick did not notice as the conversation wrapped up and the doctors left the room, did not notice as his family huddled together into a conversation, did not notice as Damian stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him, did not notice the tears slipping down Tim’s cheeks.

_He deserved to die._

He had fought to live.

~•~

“Get your hands off him, Drake.” Damian snapped above his head, swatting at the hovering Tim as he pushed Dick’s wheelchair through the front door of the Wayne Manor.

Tim huffed in annoyance, moving around the chair so that he could walk backwards in front of Dick. “We kept your room the same since before… before _it_ happened. Alfred did rearrange some stuff to make it easier to reach from the chair though. And we cleaned, obviously. Oh! And I moved my room closer in case you need anyone at any time. Dami did too–”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“So, you’ll always have at least one of us nearby. And Alfred installed a really cool touchpad thingy so you can summon him. It’s great. I wanted one too, but he told me that I wasn’t _special_ enough, which I just think is kind of rude, but–”

Dick lifted his hand, giving Tim a tired smile. “I’m sure it’s all fine, Tim… really… thankyou for putting so much effort in. I… I don’t deserve all of this.”

“Of course, you deserve this, Grayson. You need to focus on recovering. It is our duty as your older brothers to ensure that all of your energy is channeled into that.” Damian reached down, ruffling Dick’s hair, the gesture comforting despite his stern tone. “Besides, it will be good for Drake to have someone else to annoy again. He has been a nightmare to handle in your absence.”  
  
“ _Excuse you_? Me? A nightmare?” Tim looked genuinely offended, and Dick could not help the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “If anyone’s been a nightmare, it’s you, Mister Broody. You’re always grumpy and sitting in the dark.”

“It’s called _thinking_ , Drake. Not that you would know anything about that.”

“Oh, it’s on, _Dami_. You’re going down.” Tim spat, eyes narrowing, looking fully ready to engage in a fight.

Dick’s smile grew just a bit more. It was oddly nice to see his brothers fighting again. At least one thing had not changed in the three years that he was gone. He had missed this. He had missed it so, so much.

“Master Tim, Master Damian, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Alfred asked, eyes narrowed judgmentally as he stepped between the angry young men, taking the handles of the wheelchair from Damian. “I will not have you fighting in front of your brother mere moments after his return home. Have you no shame?”

“It’s okay, Alfred…” Dick mumbled, snickering softly when both Damian and Tim ducked their heads at the chastisement. “It… it’s good to be home.”

Alfred smiled down at him, wheeling the chair the rest of the way to Dick’s bedroom. “How are you feeling, Master Dick? Are you hungry? Or would you prefer to rest for a while?”

Dick’s eyes wandered around the room, swallowing slowly as he took in the painfully familiar surroundings. Tim had been right about keeping things the same. Even the book that he had left open on his bedside table was still there.

But as familiar as it all was, some things had changed. There was an IV pole standing next to the bed, and the bed itself was significantly lower to the ground. In fact, somehow, everything about the room seemed to have moved lower to the ground, making it all more accessible from a sitting position.

It was so familiar, and yet, at the same time, it was so foreign. Everything had moved, and yet, nothing had moved.

“Master Dick?”

Dick blinked, brows furrowing as he shook his head, trying to focus back in on his surroundings.

Right.

Alfred had asked him a question.

“I’m not really hungry at the moment… thankyou though. I’ll probably just take a nap.”

Alfred nodded, wheeling Dick the rest of the way to his bed. “Alright, Master Dick… just let me or one of the others know if you need anything.”

Dick nodded, although he honestly was not paying attention as Alfred showed him how to call him or the others with the new tablet system which everyone apparently had alerts for. He could feel his concentration fading, could feel his mind slipping toward that dark oblivion where it had resided for so many years.

He managed to hang on until Alfred left and the door closed behind the old butler before he let himself start to drift again.

Like had so often happened when Crimson was in control, Dick felt distant from his own body. It was as if he was floating, hovering above himself, conscious of what was happening but at the same time not. He could feel the soft covers of his bed, could see the familiar pattern of shadows on his ceiling, could feel the oxygen tubes pressed against his nose, but it all seemed so distant, so incredibly removed.

And, in that removed state, reality began to slowly sink in.

Because this was his reality.

Never again would he be the same carefree and joyous boy who had last resided in this room.

_He was a murder now._

_A crippled, sickly, useless, murderer._

Even though he knew it was impossible, the shadows seemed to darken around the room, spreading across the ceiling and pooling in the corners like a menacing force.

It was not safe.

_He was still dangerous._

Bruce had said that Zatara had gotten rid of Crimson for good. So… so why did Dick still feel that darkness in his mind, still see flashing images of splattering blood and mangled bodies littering streets?

 _He was weak_.

 _Weak and stupid_.

Dick _knew_ that Crimson was gone. But that did not stop his inner terror, Crimson’s dark cackle ringing in his head as his body curled into a fetal position on the bed, hands pressing against his ears.

Closing his eyes did not help.

There was blood everywhere.

Blood on the walls.

Blood in the corners.

Blood on the ceiling.

Blood soaking into his sheets.

Blood coating his hands.

Dick screamed, curling up tighter into a quivering ball.

It did not matter that Bruce soon came in to reassure him that Crimson was indeed gone; that Dick was safe and there was no blood.

No.

All that mattered was that Bruce and the others stay far, far away from Dick.

Because he was a _murderer_.

Because he was _terrified_ of hurting them.

_Because he deserved to just rot away and die alone._


	9. Light and dark

Lights flickered, a steady drip, drip, _drip_ echoing through the dark room.

Dick did not know where he was or how he had gotten there. One moment, he had been in that cave, darkness swirling around him, blocking out the worried faces of his teammates, and the next he was… here.

Wherever here was.

He felt strange; off balance. Dark hair obscured his vision, and Dick blew it away, brows creasing in confusion. His hair was not this long.

What was happening?

Where was he?

The hair fell back into his eyes, and Dick reached up, brushing it away. The lights flickered again, and Dick had to bite back a gasp of horror.

His hands were covered in blood.

_His hands were covered in blood._

Panic began to rise, but he pushed it back down. There had to be a simple explanation for this.

Was he injured?

A quick glance down at himself made Dick shudder, eyes widening at the sight of blood caking his clothes, some of it was dried and brown, but other parts were still soaking wet. He could feel no injury on himself.

He was moving fine.

_This was not his blood._

Slowly, Dick looked up, eyes squinting as they scanned the darkened room. At first, nothing seemed too out of place. It was just a dark, dingy basement.

But then the lights flickered brighter, and Dick let out a piercing scream, stumbling backward. His food caught on something, and he toppled over, hands flying back to brace himself only to hit something surprisingly soft and warm.

A horrifying squelching sound made Dick terrified of looking back.

But he had to. He needed to know what was going on.

And so, he turned around, eyes widening further at the pile of mutilated corpses that he had tripped into, his hands pressed into what appeared to be a woman’s torn open stomach.

The smell hit him next, the nauseating odor of rotting flesh and spoiling blood making him lean forward and spew bile onto the blood coated floor. Body shaking, Dick retched until he was seeing black spots, and nothing came up.

Still dry heaving, he scrambled away from the heap of bodies, watching his step as he moved toward stairs which hopefully led out of the basement.

He needed to get out.

_He needed to get away._

The panic was rising, building deep inside his chest until it hurt to breathe, and his vision blurred. Still, he stumbled up the stairs, hand leaving a bloody trail along the wall as he leaned against it for support.

There was a door at the top of the stairs, but it had clearly been broken down, splintered wood littering the ground around it. Dick ignored the pieces of wood, focusing all his efforts on just getting out; getting _away_.

The blood still coating the floor should have prepared him for the room ahead, but the panic was clouding his judgment, keeping him from thinking rationally. Not that rational could help him now.

He tripped again, and, as he looked down at what he had stumbled on, he began to retch once more.

It was a head.

A severed human head with bloody gaping sockets where the eyes should have been.

Teeth sinking into his lower lip hard enough to draw his own blood, Dick slowly looked up at the room, hazy vision taking in the brutal scene.

Blood was everywhere, dripping down the walls, coating the floor, even splattered across the ceiling. But that was a minor issue compared to the rest.

Human remains were scattered across the room like confetti at a party, fingers, feet, strung out intestines… there was even a heart laying neatly next to an elderly man with a gaping hole in his chest. A hole that looked like someone had reached in and ripped out the organ.

A hole the size of Dick’s hand.

Vision swirling, Dick stumbled away, back hitting the wall as he slowly sank to his knees, heedless of the blood soaking through his clothes. He was covered in blood already.

He could not think.

He could not move.

He could not _breathe._

His hands moved up to clasp at his ears as an eerie laugh filled his head, the room growing increasingly darker around him, although whether that was him starting to pass out, or something else, Dick was unsure.

The laughter grew louder, and Dick screamed, body jolting off the bed as his eyes flew open, hands tugging painfully at his own hair, panic flooding his system.

Crimson had killed them.

_Dick had killed them._

But wait.

That laugh.

_Crimson was here._

_He was Crimson._

Dick could not breathe, gasping for air despite the fact that his oxygen tube was still securely in place. His chest _hurt_ , but he could not focus on that now. Not when Crimson was still clearly around and so clearly going to hurt his family.

_He would hurt his family._

The door opened with a bang, and suddenly, Bruce was there, wrapping his arms around Dick and cradling him against his chest, rocking him gently back and forth.

“Shhh. It’s okay, Dick. You’re okay. Come on, bud. Just breathe. In… out… in… out.” Bruce instructed, large hand grasping Dick’s own and pulling it gently away from his hair, voice reassuringly stern.

Dick shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut as he focused in on the beat of his father’s heart, doing his best to use its rhythm to guide his breathing. It was going to be fine… Bruce said it was going to be fine.

_It was never going to be fine._

He pushed the thoughts away, body tensing as the sound of footsteps approached the bed.

“Is he okay? I heard the screaming…”

Tim. Of course it was Tim. Not like Tim ever actually slept at night anyway.

Dick kept his face turned away from his brother, still struggling to calm his breathing as Bruce gently rubbed his back, murmuring words of reassurance in his ear. He felt Bruce shift ever so slightly, probably turning to look at Tim.

“Just a nightmare and panic attack. He’ll be fine.”

Another set of footsteps entered the room.

Damian.

“That’s the third one tonight… are you sure sleeping pills are the way to go? It only seems to be making it worse.”

Bruce sighed, hand stilling on Dick’s back for a moment before continuing it’s slow and gentle circling. “He needs to rest. It’s important for his recovery.”

The bed dipped as one of his brothers moved to sit down. “Maybe he’d do better if one of us stays in here with him. I could do it.”

Dick frowned. That was not happening. He could not let one of them be that close to him for such an extended period of time.

_He could kill them._

Slowly, shakily, Dick pulled back from Bruce, turning to look at Tim who was sitting on the end of his bed. “I don’t need you staying in here. I-it’s fine. Just a nightmare. I need to get through them on my own.”

“Grayson, your first nightmare nearly stopped your heart again. We had to do CPR.” Damian deadpanned, eyes narrowing as he stepped forward and reached for Dick only to drop his hand as the younger flinched back into Bruce’s hold.

“I’m _fine_.”

Bruce shook his head, gently shifting his hold on Dick until he was once again laying down on the bed. “You are clearly not fine. You might be slightly more recovered, but that just means that your mind is more active than it was when you first came home. Leaving you on your own at night is not working.”

Dick glared, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling recovered enough to at least try and argue this. It was not safe for them to be this close. He could hurt them. “Well, I’m not sleeping if you stay.”

“We’re not about to just leave again and have you nearly die in your sleep. Not happening. We just got you back, Dick… we’re worried about you.”

“Oh yeah. Worried enough that you won’t actually listen to me. I told you I can handle it on my own. I don’t need your pity, Tim.”

Dick did not miss the flash of hurt in Tim’s eyes. The hurt was good. If Dick hurt him enough, maybe Tim would stay away. He needed Tim to stay away.

_He could hurt him._

Damian sighed, running a hand down his face and biting back a yawn. “What if I let Titus sleep with him? He’s been trained to help with panic attacks… and he’ll start barking if it gets really bad.”

“Titus?” Dick asked, nose scrunching ever so slightly as he looked at Damian, confusion written clearly across his face.

“He’s my dog. You haven’t met him yet because I was waiting until after you were doing a bit better. But he’s been trained to detect panic attacks and to help with them. He’s also good when it comes to dealing with nightmares.” Damian nodded, making Dick look at him with even more confusion.

“You got a _dog_?” He turned to look at Bruce, lower lip protruding in a pout. “You always said I couldn’t have a dog whenever I asked. Why does Dami get a dog?”

Bruce sighed, ruffling Dick’s hair absently. “He needed one, bud. Look… no time to dwell on the past now. Would you be okay with Titus sleeping in here? It’s either that or one of us.”

“Fine. I… Titus can stay.”

At least a dog was better than a human. From what he could remember, Crimson had never hurt the animals. If anything, Crimson had seemed to _like_ animals. He had distinct memories of the demon stopping to pet stray cats.

Damian left the room, and Tim sighed, pushing his fingers back through his hair as he gave Dick a tired smile. “Titus is pretty great. You’re lucky Damian is letting him sleep with you… he barely even lets me pet him.”

“He’s probably worried that you’ll end up stealing him.” Dick mumbled with a faint smile, exhaustion starting to flood back in now that he was once again calm. It had been a long night, and he felt even worse knowing that he had kept the others awake as well.

_Even as Dick Grayson, he was hurting them._

“Like Drake could ever steal something from me.” Damian laughed, returning to the room with a large black dog trotting along at his heals. “Grayson, meet Titus. Titus, Grayson.”

The dog approached the bed cautiously, sniffing at the bedcover before jumping up and moving over to Dick. He sniffed Dick’s arm, nuzzling the appendage all the way down to Dick’s hand which he proceeded to lick.

  
Dick bit his lip, lips twitching upward as he lifted his hand to gently pet the dog’s head. “Hello, Titus.” He whispered, watching in awe as Titus curled up against his side, dropping his head to rest it on Dick’s leg with a contented huff, before he looked up at Damian. “Thankyou, Dami… I… I appreciate it.” This time, he did manage a full smile, even if it was a bit forced.

“Of course. Titus is a great sleeping companion.” Damian nodded, gaze warm as he returned Dick’s smile. That alone was enough to make Dick quickly look away. His plan to avoid the others was not going to work if they kept on being this nice.

But, as his family left the room and closed the door behind them, Dick could not help but think that maybe, just maybe, he could do with letting them get just slightly closer. Especially if that meant him getting to sleep with a dog at night.

~•~

“Pssst.”

Dick blinked, looking up from his computer to glance around the room. What was that strange noise?

“Pssssssssst. Dick! Psssssssssssssssst.”

His eyes focused in on the window, widening at the sight of an all too familiar redhead perched precariously on the windowsill, face pressed up against the glass. It would have been creepy if Dick was not used to it. Although, the fact that he was accustomed to the speedster randomly appearing at his window probably said something about their relationship.

Dick put his computer down, carefully sliding himself off the bed and into his wheelchair, turning it on with a few quick button presses and steering it over to the window. Actually getting the thing open was a bit of a challenge, but Dick managed eventually, heaving it open and leaning back, breaths coming in soft pants.

“Wally, what are you doing?”

“Coming to see you, duh.” The redhead responded, slipping through the window and closing it carefully behind himself before turning to grin at Dick. He was practically buzzing with excitement. “Barry told me that Canary told Green Arrow that Bruce told Wonder Woman that Zatara got the demon out. But that was _weeks_ ago, so I figured I’d come visit because while I know you probably weren’t going to have forgotten about me or something, but you _might_ have and that would have been sad. But also I was worried about you, because _three years_ , Dick. Three years. Dude, your hair is so long now, what the heck. Also… woah. That’s a crash wheelchair. Did Bruce design that thing? There are so many buttons. Have you been eating? You look like you haven’t been eating. I’m seriously so worried, you have no idea. That black stuff that got into looked absolutely terrifying. And the news reports. Man, that demon was _rampaging_. Seriously horrifying stuff. You really need to eat more. Speaking of eating, you got any food around here?”

Dick blinked.

Then he blinked again.

His shoulders began to shake ever so slightly, making Wally’s eyes go wide.

“Oh no. Are you crying? Please don’t cry! You don’t look _that_ bad. Just maybe like… a haircut and some food and you’ll be fine. Why are you still shaking, Dick? Say something? Please? I don’t know what to do.” Wally looked like he himself was about to start crying, and that was what did it for Dick.

A soft laugh bubbled up from his throat, the sound strained and unfamiliar, but a laugh, nonetheless.   
  
“I’m not crying. Perfectly whelmed, see? You just… you haven’t changed a bit.” Dick murmured, lips twitching upward into a faint grin.

Wally returned the grin with full force, reaching over and ruffling Dick’s too-long hair. “Nah. I totally changed. I can fit thirty marshmallows in my mouth at once now. That’s a whole ten more.”

“Now that’s something I need to see.”

“Well, get me some marshmallows and I’ll show you.”

Hours later when Bruce returned home from work and went to check in on Dick, he was stopped in the hallway by a smiling Alfred.

“I would not recommend disturbing young Master Dick at the moment.” The old butler spoke, glancing toward Dick’s door with a happy look in his eyes. An expression that Bruce had not seen in an extremely long time.

“Why not?” Bruce asked, confusion and concern making him too focus his gaze at the door down the hall.

“Just listen.”

Moving quietly, Bruce came to a stop outside the closed door, a soft gasp slipping from his lips as he heard a sound that was so familiar it hurt.

Dick was laughing.

Another voice joined in the laugher, and Bruce had to fight back a groan.

Of course, the redheaded speedster had gotten in somehow.

 _Of course._

But, listening to that laugh, Bruce did not have the heart to send the other boy away.

So, he turned instead toward his older sons’ rooms, intent on warning them to leave the friends alone.


	10. Tim likes superhero movies, Damian says no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to state that this chapter was completed at 2am and I did not edit because I'm lazy. So the last part is probably a mess and I apologize. 
> 
> Anyway... hope you're enjoying it thus far, thank you for reading <3

“Hey, little wing? We’re doing movie night.” Tim said, poking his head through the door.

Dick looked up, quickly closing his laptop where tab upon tab of news footage had been pulled up, all detailing the rampage of Crimson. Tim did not need to know what he was looking at. “What are we watching?” He asked, gritting his teeth as he lifted his body with shaking arms, inching off the bed and toward the wheelchair.

“You know I can help with that, right?” Tim entered the room, a frown spreading across his lips as he reached for Dick. Dick flinched back and Tim’s frown deepened as hurt seeped into his eyes.

“I don’t need your help. I need to learn how to do this myself.” He insisted, hating how Tim’s hurt expression made his chest ache. This was for the better. Or at least, that is what he told himself. It was for Tim’s protection.

_He had already nearly killed him once._

Dick made it into his chair, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he kept his gaze averted from Tim.

Tim sighed, the sound loud enough to make Dick flinch. “I wish you would just let us help, Dickie… we _want_ to help. It’s not like we think you’re weak or incapable. You survived for three years with that thing inside you. We know you’re strong. We just… we’re just trying to make up for how useless we were with rescuing you.”

“You didn’t tell me what we’re watching.” Dick mumbled, putting extra effort into keeping his tone cold as he snapped his fingers, the large, black, form of Titus jumping down from the bed and standing close to his chair as Dick began to steer out of the room.

“Bruce said you can pick.” Tim said with another sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat as he trailed after Dick into the living room. He missed how Dick had been before, missed the playful and energetic kid who had spent his time jumping off walls and pestering him and the others constantly. It had been nice having him around. Now, everywhere Dick went, gloominess persisted. It was heartbreaking to see the empty shell that his brother had become. Tim _hated_ it.

Dick continued to ignore the older male as he guided his chair toward the couches where Bruce and Damian were already sitting. Family movie nights were something that Dick had insisted on when he was younger; back when Jason was still alive and Dick himself was not dying. It had been nice back then.

Now it felt more like a chore, what with how much effort Dick had to put in to properly ignore his family.

He could not let them get close.

_He could not risk hurting them._

Still, when Bruce patted the spot on the couch next to him with a welcoming smile, Dick pulled his chair up closer and slipped into the empty space, letting Bruce wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer.

The closeness was something that the old Dick would have reveled in.

Now it was all he could do not to pull away.

Because as much as hurting his brothers was hard, it was nearly impossible to do with Bruce.

After all, Bruce was the man who had taken him in when he had nothing, who had cared for him when he awoke from nightmares, who had taught him that he could be happy again after his parents’ deaths. Consciously hurting Bruce would be a betrayal of everything Dick stood for. Not that he had not tried though. Bruce was like a wall; strong, immovable, unchanging. Nothing Dick said or did seemed to scare him away.

That alone was comforting.

_Bruce would hate him if he hurt his brothers._

Dick moved closer to Bruce as Tim joined them on the couch, widening the gap between them, the ache in his chest spreading as he caught Tim’s hurt expression.

He was doing this to protect Tim.

He needed to remember that.

A quick glance up showed him that Damian was sitting in a recliner to the other side of the couch. Good. That was a much safer distance.

“So… movie suggestions?” Bruce asked, smiling warmly down at his youngest.

Dick looked down, hand reaching forward until it found Titus’ soft fur, fingers stroking the dog’s head in an attempt to soothe the rising anxiety. “I… I don’t know. You guys can pick.”

“Superhero movie? Infinity war?” Tim asked, the excitement palpable in his tone.   
  
Damian snorted. “No. We are not watching a superhero movie. If you make us, _superheroes_ , watch a superhero movie, I will murder you in your sleep.”

“Damian, no death threats, please.”

“Yes, father.”

“Dick, are you sure you don’t want to pick the movie?”

Dick nodded, fingers still running over Titus’ head as the dog jumped up, curling into his lap. Another glance up revealed that Damian was watching him with a barely concealed smile. He hurriedly looked away once more.

“Okay then… how about Lord of the Rings?” Bruce asked, leaving the question hanging for a few moments before nodding. “Alright. Lord of the Rings it is.” He scrolled through the movies on their TV before pulling up The Two Towers.

The room settled into comfortable silence as the movie began to play, but Dick hardly gave the movie much attention. Instead, he kept his eyes downcast, focusing on scratching carefully behind Titus’ ears, the big dog heavy in his lap. Not that he minded though. Titus really had ended up being a big help.

He looked back over at Damian again, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment when he saw that Damian was watching him too. Ducking his head and moving in closer to Bruce, Dick finally began to pay attention to the movie.

After all, it was important that he look normal… that he act normal. He could not show that he was worried about hurting then. He could not worry them further. He could not be more of a burden; not when he was already going to be one for the rest of his life.

Still, he was tired.

_He was always tired._

Slowly, his eyes grew heavier and heavier until his head dropped to rest on Bruce’s shoulders and his eyes fluttered closed. With the movie playing in the background, Dick drifted off to sleep.

It only felt like moments later when yelling woke him up.

“What the fuck? And you wonder _why_ I stay away from you people. You’re fucking assholes, that’s why. Get your filthy little paws off me, Drake. I swear, I will shoot you.”

Dick blinked his eyes open, finding that he was now alone on the couch, the rest of his family nowhere to be seen. But he could definitely hear them. The shouting was _loud_.

It was also vaguely familiar, but Dick could not place the voice.

Not yet at least.

“Put the gun down.” That was definitely Bruce, but what he was saying made no sense. Had someone really brought a gun into the manor? “This is exactly why we didn’t tell you.”

“What, you thought I was going to fucking _shoot_ him? Wow, you really are dumber than you look.”

Someone pulled the door closed, and the voices grew muffled, although the angry tones were still very much present.

Frowning, Dick gently nudged Titus off his lap and hauled himself into his wheelchair, making sure that his oxygen tube was properly in place before steering it toward the door. Whatever was going on, he needed to know, especially since the yells were escalating into what sounded like a full-on fight.

Halfway to the door, it was yanked open, slamming against the wall as a tall young man stepped into the room, green eyes wild, a patch of white hair contrasting strongly against the raven black locks covering the rest of his head. The green eyes fixed onto Dick and the man lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Dick as best he could, considering the fact that Dick was sitting.

Dick blinked.

Then he blinked again.

Slowly, his arms moved to wrap around the taller male’s waist as a soft gasp slipped from his lips. “J-Jason? You… you died…”

“Oh fuck. They didn’t fucking tell you either?” Jason asked, pulling back giving Dick a fond smile as he ruffled his hair. “Good to see you again, Dickie-bird.” Then he turned, eyes narrowing at the rest of the family who had now come to stand just outside the doorway. “What the fuck, Bruce.”

“Look, we can have a calm conversation about this. If you would just sit down…”

“Bruce. He’s alive. You… you didn’t… were you just not going to tell me at all?” Dick asked, tone wavering dangerously as he stared in horror at the man who had raised him. He had been distraught when Jason had died. Extremely heavy on the dis. They had been close. Closer even than Tim and Dick were, and Dick was very close with Tim. To know that Jason was alive and to just… not tell Dick about it… well… Dick was not happy about it in the slightest.

It was reassuring to see that Jason was clearly not happy about it either, if the way his brother was playing with his gun holster was anything to say about it.

“He didn’t even tell me that you had been caught, let alone kinda mostly fixed.” Jason growled, moving to stand protectively over Dick’s chair. “I had to fucking find out from Roy. _Roy_. And you want to know how Roy found out? Huh? Because Wally had to fucking break in to find out if Dick was actually okay or not. You spew all this bullshit about us being a _family_ about how oh it’s all my fault for not wanting anything to do with your dumb asses, and then you go and you do _this_? Oh, don’t you dare try to say anything. I’ve got stuff to say and I’ll be damned if you don’t stand there and fucking listen for once in your godforsaken pompous rich dipshit life.”

Jason stopped for a breath, and Dick reached out, placing a hand on Jason’s arm, earning him another smile from his brother before Jason returned to glowering at Bruce who was in fact looking suitably chastised. “First of all you didn’t even tell me that he’d been fucking possessed in the first place, which might I add happened because you sent a bunch of kids on missions that you didn’t do enough research on and were too lazy to get off your ass and do yourself, and then you have the nerve to fucking whine at me like some bitch ass two-year-old for not wanting to be a part of this haphazard collection of morons that you call a family? Guess how I found out that he had been possessed in the fucking first place? Fucking Roy Harper. And he found out from fucking _Wallace West_ , exactly like how this fucking played out. If you don’t have the decency to tell me about something like this yourself, at least make sure it doesn’t have to go through two fucking redheads to get to me, goddamn it. And now I find out that you didn’t even fucking tell him that I was alive? I might hate you lot and burn voodoo dolls of you as a nightly ritual, but I actually fucking _like_ Dickiebird.”  
  
“… Thanks, Jay… I like you too.” Dick mumbled, patting Jason’s arm gently in an attempt to calm the raging hero down. Sure, he was mad too, but Jason looked about ready to pop a blood vessel.

Bruce let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that all?”

“Like fucking hell it isn’t, asshat.” Jason snapped, taking a step toward Bruce, only held back by the fact that Dick still had a hand on his arm. “You don’t tell me he’s possessed, you don’t tell me he’s come back, you don’t tell me he’s _dying_ , and you don’t even fucking tell him that I’ve come back to life? What, were you just going to keep it a fucking secret until he kicked the bucket?”

“Todd. He is not dying. Or at least not if we can help it.” Damian spoke up, frowning at Jason. “Would you please just calm down and take a seat? Grayson is still recovering, and all this yelling is not good for him.”  
  
Dick glared. “I’ve told you. I’m _fine_.”  
  
Tim sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. _Fine_. You just can only be awake for a few hours, need constant medicine, and have almost died in your sleep nearly every night this week alone.”

Jason frowned at that, glancing down at Dick with concern written all over his features. “Is that true? How bad are you doing?”

“I’m _fine_.” Dick insisted, although if the bags under his eyes and the tiredness on his expression were anything to go by, he was definitely far from fine.

Bruce stepped past them, moving to take a seat on the couch. “Please, Jason. Join us. I know that I may not have handled things the best possible way, but at the very least we can have a civil conversation to sort it out.”

“Civil my ass.” Jason huffed, although he did reluctantly follow Dick as he maneuvered his chair back to the couch, helping Dick onto it despite his protests and then perching on the armrest like an angry bird of prey ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

Bruce waited until everyone was seated before beginning to talk, tone surprisingly calm considering the fact that Jason had been yelling at him mere moments earlier. “Jason, I did not tell you that he was back to himself yet because I wanted to wait until I could properly judge his mental state. Revealing something as important as you being alive while he’s already in a fragile mental state could have adverse side effects.”

“I’m right here, you know… my mental state is _fine_.” Dick grumbled, although his fingers were once again in Titus’ fur, the dog having joined him on the couch once more, head lifted and gazing intently at Dick who, to be fair, was starting to feel more than a little bit anxious.

Damian laughed bitterly. “Grayson, having nightmares every night and panic attacks on a regular basis does not qualify as fine.”

“He’s having panic attacks?” Jason asked, the worry once again overtaking his anger as he looked down at the fragile form of his baby brother. Dick definitely looked… well… he did not look like the overly happy and energetic boy that Jason had known, that was for sure. “Dickie, you’re having panic attacks?”

Dick huffed. “You would be having them too if you got possessed by a _demon_ for _three years_.” He protested, stressing the words as he turned to glare at Damian. “Would you just stop bringing them up? I’m handling it fine.”

“Stop using the word ‘fine’. You are not fine. You don’t need to be fine. We’re just trying to take care of you.” Tim broke in, reaching for Dick. This time he ignored the smaller male flinching away, grasping Dick’s arm in his hand. “Just look at yourself, okay? You’re skin and bones. You can’t sleep, you can’t make it through a day without freaking out, you can barely function at all. Don’t you want to recover? We want to _help_ you.”

“Well maybe I don’t want your help!”

Jason was frowning now, reaching down to ruffle Dick’s hair gently. “Umm… Dickie-bird? You clearly need help. Like… fuck, you look horrible. If that dog ate a rabbit, shit it out, and the shit got ran over by a sixteen-wheeler, you would still look worse than the shit rabbit.”

“Thankyou, Jason, for that… lovely… description.” Bruce said after a moment of exaggerated gagging sounds from Tim and snickers of laughter from Damian. “The point that we’re all trying to make here is that you’re very clearly not recovering well, Dick.”

“I’m fine.” Dick inched away from Jason, nose scrunched up in distaste. “You know, I think I liked it better when you were still dead.”

“Rude ass bitch.” Jason retorted, pulling Dick back next to him with a smirk. “You know you love me.”

Dick squirmed in his hold, looking to Tim with pleading eyes. “Please help?”

“Nope. You said you don’t need help, remember?” Tim huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

“Dami?” Turning his gaze toward Damian, Dick reached out for his older brother. 

Damian simply shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Tim’s right. You don’t want our help.”

Jason laughed, ruffling Dick’s hair once more and smirking down at him. “So, how about I force feed you some food? Or maybe drag you along to therapy? You’d be cool with me taking him to therapy, right, Bruce?”

“Sure, as long as you get him there.”

“Jason, let me go.”

“No can do, little bird. You’re my prisoner now. I think I’m gonna keep you right here where I can keep an eye on you.” Jason ignored Dick’s feeble protests, although he was seriously concerned by how weak the younger was. If he could barely struggle against his light hold on his arm, how would he be able to do anything at all?

Dick let out an exaggerated huff, glowering at Jason. “You compared me to a pooped-out rabbit runover by a truck.”

Jason grinned. “There are plenty more analogies where that came from.”

“Okay. Fine. _Fine_. I’ll let you guys help more. Are you happy now? Just get me away from him.” Dick caved, giving Tim his best puppy dog eyes and quickly being rewarded when he was freed from the clutches of their more psychotic brother.

“See? _That_ is how you get things done efficiently.” Jason said, turning to lift an eyebrow at Bruce.

Bruce simply sighed. “I am sorry for not telling you sooner. I should have told you right when everything happened.”

“It’s not going to be that fucking easy to win me back. But I’ll be coming around more to check on the little bird so you’ll have time to make it up.”

“Right… thankyou.” Bruce nodded, reaching for the TV remote before a knock sounded on the doorframe and all heads turned to stare at an amused looking Alfred.

“Would you like tea? Some snacks perhaps?” The butler asked, tone ever calm and neutral despite the smile on his face.

Jason grinned. “Fuck yes. You got any cookies?”

“Master Todd, please refrain from using such language while inside this house.” Alfred scolded, although it had no true bite to it. Alfred was no fool. No one would be able to make Jason stop swearing. “I will bring some cookies.”

The butler turned and left, and the rest of the family settled back in on the couches, Dick curled up between Tim and Jason as the two fused over him and made sure he was comfortable despite his still frequent protests, and Bruce and Damian sharing fond smiles while the others were occupied.

In the kitchen Alfred pulled out his special stash of cookies and placed them neatly on a tray. Such a special occasion truly was worthy of delicious treats.


	11. When you get possessed by a demon... and don't get cool powers

Dick was still doing his best to avoid his family, although that had grown harder to do now that Jason was randomly stopping by for seemingly no other reason than to bother him and force him to eat or go outside.

He did not want to go outside.

He did not want to eat.

There was no point to do either, really.

After all, even if he lived longer, it would never be the same. All of Bruce’s money would never be able to remedy the fact that Dick’s body was broken, destroyed from years of misuse. Not that Dick would want Bruce to spend his money on him anyway. He was burden enough already.

_He would always be a burden._

Excited voices pulled Dick from his thoughts, and he turned just in time to see the door swing open, both Wally and Jason standing there with devious looks on their faces.   
  
“No. Whatever it is, no. I don’t want to.”

Wally deflated instantly, shoulders slumping as he stepped further into the room. “Come on, Dick… at least let us tell you first.”

“Yeah, come on, Dickie-bird. Wally here has a great idea. And I’m coming along for the fun.” Jason ruffled Dick’s hair, earning an annoyed groan, before flopping down onto the bed.

Titus whined, licking Jason’s face.

Dick sighed. “Just get it out then… but if I say no, that means no. Seriously. I will not sit on a street corner in a shabby wheelchair and beg for you two.”  
  
“Um… what? We would _never_ ask you to do such a thing, would we, Wally?” Jason’s eyes had lit up further at the idea, making Dick cross his arms over his chest with a soft huff of irritation.

Sometimes he wondered why he had ever missed the guy. Jason could be seriously annoying, and when combined with Wally the two became a nightmare. He was just glad that the two had not thought to bring Roy along too.

Wally gave Dick a sheepish smile, starting to pace back and forth in front of the bed. “Okay, so I was talking to the Team, and they’re all really worried about you. Kinda sorta told them that you’re not demon possessed anymore but are also like… seriously not able to do things, and that just made them even more concerned and so I thought… you know… might help if you visit the mountain. Especially since half of them were unconscious when stuff went bad. You’re still our teammate, after all. Even if you’re out of commission for now.”

“I don’t know, Wally… I… I don’t think that’s a great idea.” Dick mumbled, already feeling the anxiety knotting in his chest. He could barely handle being around his _family_. Having to be seen by his team, the people that he had fought bedside and supported on missions… he could already feel the pitying stares.

_Useless. He was useless._

Jason rolled his eyes. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Bruce is gone and can’t complain about it, and the other two minions aren’t around either. I’ve been dying to mess with your team ever since Roy first complained about it.”

Dick frowned, fingers twisting in Titus’ fur as the dog moved up to place his head in his lap. “Are they all going to be there?”

“Most of them are. M’gann and Connor still live there. And there are new people too! Everyone’s so excited to meet you.”

“You…” Dick narrowed his eyes at his friend, shoulders slumping in defeat. “You told them I was coming, didn’t you?”

Wally’s grin told it all.

With a loud groan, Dick flopped back against his pillows.

~•~

- _Recognized Kid Flash B03_ -

- _Recognized Red Hood Z11_ -

- _Recognized Robin B01_ -

The Cave looked exactly has it had the day Dick had left for his mission. Although, now he was looking at it from a whole new angle. Sunglasses covering his eyes and thus hiding his identity, Dick watched warily as people began to swarm into the main room.

First to enter was M’gann, eyes widening as she practically threw herself at him, only held back by Jason’s protective arm.

“Hands off the little bird. He’s a bit fragile at the moment.” Jason stated calmly, moving to stand next to Dick’s chair to better prevent overly zealous heroes from attack hugging his younger brother.   
  
Dick gave him a faint smile of gratitude before looking back at M’gann. Raising his hand, he gave her an awkward little wave. “Hi…”

“Hello, Megan!” M’gann exclaimed, facepalming before looking back at him with a wide smile. “I am so sorry. Wally did say that you were still recovering. I’m just… We’re all so excited to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too.” Dick mumbled, although he could not help but shift uncomfortably in his chair as he noticed the intense stares coming from the group of heroes behind the Martian. “You got new people?”

Wally spoke up then, grin shining like the sun as he gestured wildly around the room, introducing everyone. “These are Bumblebee, Lagoon Boy, Beast Boy, and Wonder Girl. And then obviously you already know Connor, Artemis, and Kaldur.”

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Robin.” Kaldur added, joining M’gann by his chair and offering Dick his hand. “Everyone, this is Robin, protégé of Batman and founding member of this Team.”

Dick clasped it, unable to fight the smile that tugged across his lips. “Can’t say anyone’s called me that in a while. It’s good to see you, Kaldur.”

It did feel nice, to be called Robin again. But it hurt too. Because Dick knew all too well that there was no ‘yet’ in his recovery; he knew he would never recover.

_He would never truly be Robin again._

Artemis and Connor came to welcome him back next, and Dick did his best to put on a good face, to smile and act normal, to be _Robin_.

It was hard.

“So… is it true that you were a demon for a while? You got any cool powers from it?” The green kid, Beast Boy?, asked after a long moment of silence, eyeing Dick curiously. “That thing totally wiped out so many cities. It was epic.”

The blonde girl elbowed him, earning a disgruntled hiss. “You can’t ask stuff like that. It’s _rude_.”

“No, it… it’s fine. It’s true that I was possessed. And no. No cool powers.” Dick mumbled, fighting the urge to shrink back into his chair as the new members stared at him harder.

“You don’t look like much of a fighter.” The Fish boy commented, crossing his arms over his chest with a cocky expression.

“Oh, fuck off, Fish kid. He was possessed for three fucking years. Of course, he doesn’t look like much of fighter now. What are you, fucking stupid?” Jason retorted bluntly, earing wide-eyed stares from both the new Team and the older members.

Dick sighed, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Um… this is Red Hood. He was Robin before me.”

Thank goodness.

Now the questions were turned toward Jason instead of him.

He reached over, poking Wally in the side. “Hey… can we ditch ‘em? I want to see the changes around here.”

Wally perked up at that, nodding enthusiastically. “Sure.” He whispered back, grabbing hold of Dick’s wheelchair and starting to push him toward the exit.

“Wally, where are you going?” Artemis asked, keeping pace with the wheelchair.

“Showing Rob around. He missed a lot of changes.”

“Sweet. I’m joining. You cool with that, Robin?”

Dick nodded, glancing back to see poor Jason swarmed by overly excited young heroes.

Wally steered him through the hallways of the Cave, explaining the various changes with Artemis pitching in every now and then to help explain something or point out something that Wally missed. Under normal circumstances, Dick would have felt bad about zoning his friends out, but right now he needed to focus. He needed to concentrate on staying calm and not freaking out about anything.

It was hard.

Ridiculously hard.

“Oh, Zatanna’s here too.” Artemis commented as Wally pushed the chair through the hallway housing bedrooms. They came to a stop in front of a room that Dick could only assume belonged to the young magician. “Yo. Z? You in there?"

The door pushed open, and Zatanna stepped out, hair mussed and dark circles under her eyes which widened upon seeing Dick. She quickly looked away. “Robin. I did not know you were coming.”

“Yeah… I didn’t know until like an hour ago either.” Dick grumbled, glancing up pointedly at Wally who simply shrugged.

“Everyone missed you… it wasn’t fair that I’d seen you and they hadn’t.”

“Right…” Zatanna sighed softly, eyes scanning over Dick carefully. “So… the wheelchair. How bad is it?”

Was it just Dick, or was she acting unusually hostile? He had always gotten along well with Zatanna, so maybe he was just making things up. He had to be, right?

“Well, I’m not dead…” Dick left off the ‘yet’ part, but it was fairly obvious in his tone.

Wally frowned. “Hey, you’ll get better in no time. Just give it a bit and I’m sure you’ll be swinging off rooftops and making up dumb sayings like the old days.”

Dick looked away, and Artemis smacked the back of Wally’s head.

“Ow… What was that for?”

“For being a dumbass. Robin, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Seriously, I mean… what happened was messed up. Just having you back at all is a miracle.”

“Thanks.” Dick mumbled, shaking his head as he looked back up at Zatanna. “The doctors don’t have high hopes. Apparently, pretty much everything that could fail did. Pretty disastrous, heavy on the dis. But for now, I’m doing okay. Like I said, not dead…” He shrugged, and Zatanna turned away.

“Seriously? After all this… you might still die?” She asked, tone growing even colder.

Wally frowned. “Hey… Z… chill. It’s only been a few weeks. Give him time.”

“Time? Seriously?” Zatanna snapped, turning back around to glare at Wally, eyes watery with unshed tears. “You want to know how he got brought back? My father put on the Helmet of Fate and Nabu took him. _Permanently_. So, I’m sorry that I can’t just _give him time_ , but my father sacrificed everything to bring him back. To bring _this_ back.” She gestured at Dick’s wheelchair bound body, anger clear in her voice.

Dick flinched back, anxiety bubbling in his chest, rapidly turning into panic. He had hurt Zatanna. It might have been unintended, but it had happened. It was his fault she had lost her father. “I… I’m sorry, Z. I really am. I… I never would have asked for that.”

Zatanna scoffed, angry glare focusing in on Dick. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. He gave his life to bring back _Robin_. To bring back a hero, because you had potential. Not to bring back some broken boy who’s going to die anyway.”

He really was panicking now, heart rate rising as Zatanna’s angry shadow loomed over him.

Shadows.

 _Crimson_.

No. Not Crimson. It was just Zatanna. Just… just his _friend_.

His very, very angry and hurt friend.

He had hurt her.

Zatanna turned to go back into her room, and Dick reached for her.

His hand fell short, but that was not about to stop him. He needed to comfort his friend, to apologize for taking her father away, for hurting her.

And so, body trembling and breaths coming in sharp gasps, Dick pushed himself out of his wheelchair.

One step.

Two.

Three.

His hand stretched out, reaching… the door slammed in his face and Dick’s legs gave out from under him, his body crashing to the floor.

Loud voices echoed in the hallway, panicked words blending into one twisted harmony as Dick’s vision blurred, the black tinted corners moving inward as unconsciousness threatened to claim him.

Someone kneeled next to him, gentle hands cradling his body as he was lifted, into a firm hold. He struggled weakly, panic churning in his stomach as his breathing turned into full on hyperventilation.

Dimly, he was aware of the many eyes on him, whispered words only serving to fuel his panic aa dark spots threatened to overtake his vision. A careful hand touched his cheek, moving his head to rest against the chest of whoever was carrying him.

As the darkness overcame him, Dick’s struggles decreased, his body going limp in the man’s hold as his head tilted back. His last thought was one of recognition. 

_Damian._

_Damian was there… it would be okay._

~•~

A soft beeping was what first registered as Dick drifted back into consciousness, eyelids fluttering tiredly as he blinked his eyes open and gazed around the room, brain slowly registering the fact that he was back in hospital.

Great. Just great.

As if he was not a problem enough already.

“Dami?” Dick asked, gaze focusing in on where his oldest brother sat across the room, phone pressed to his ear and mumbling quietly.

Damian glanced up, relief flashing across his expression. “Father, I need to go. He just woke up. We’ll be home shortly.” He hung up, slipping the phone into his pocket and standing up, worried eyes making Dick feel even more guilty.

He had worried Damian.

_Useless._

“How long have I been out for?” Dick asked, glancing away as he struggled to sit up, noticing that more tubes were connected to his body.   
  
Great. Just _great_.

“Lay back down. You’re restricted to full on bedrest now.” Damian grumbled, coming to a stop at Dick’s bedside and gently pushing him back down. “It was a few hours. They had to put you under for a while to get a better read on your vital signs… nightmares were interfering.”

“Right… okay. We can go home?” Dick sighed, brushing away Damian’s concern as best as he could. He was still trying to be distant, after all. Hugging his older brother did not count as staying distant, even if he really did need the reassurance.

Damian echoed his sigh, stepping away again to grab Dick’s wheelchair from where it was situated against the wall. “You’re clear to go home for now. But we do need to talk about how far you pushed it today. Todd… Jason should not have taken you to see your friends. It was not a good idea without supervision. You’re lucky I got there in time.”

“Wally said they were worried… I… I’m tired of people worrying about me.”

“We wouldn’t worry about you if you would just let us help more. Or at least talked about it. There’s nothing wrong with having issues, you know. That’s why I have Titus.”

Dick frowned at that, glancing up at his brother curiously. “Titus… Titus helps you with issues? But you’re fine… what would he even help you with?”

“Jason’s death hit us all pretty hard, little wing. And then you… well… things were rough for a while.” Damian said, looking away from Dick’s curious stare as if embarrassed. But that could not be right.

This was Damian.

Damian was never embarrassed.

“What did he help with?”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest, distinctly uncomfortable now. “I was having anxiety issues. Panic attacks. They were not as bad as yours, but… well, Titus helped. Father got him from a trainer after a few bad episodes.”  
  
Now it was Dick’s turn to feel uncomfortable. He had never seen Damian so _vulnerable_ before. It hurt to see his strong and confident older brother looking so… so… Dick did not know how to describe it, honestly.

And then it hit him even harder.

 _Titus_.

Damian had let Dick keep Titus with him and sleep with him at night, even though the dog was Damian’s support animal.

Dick was even more of a burden than he had originally thought.

_Even without Crimson, he was hurting them._

“I didn’t know… do you… do you still have issues? You’re letting Titus sleep with me. It’s not making it worse for you, is it?”

“No, no. I’ve been doing better for a while now. It’s good to see that Titus is helping you.” Damian spoke quickly, firmly, as his hand reached forward, ruffling Dick’s hair. “He’s probably happy to hang out with someone less boring anyway.”

Dick managed a weak laugh. “Right… the kid stuck in a wheelchair and incapable of doing anything is more interesting.”

“Tttttt. If you’d just take it easy and recover like you’re supposed to be doing, then maybe you’d realize that there are still things you can do.” Damian rolled his eyes, gesturing toward the wheelchair. “Now come on, Grayson. Pennyworth will be angry if we are late to dinner.”


	12. Falling feels like flying until you have no wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning on this chapter. Can't say much with out spoiling stuff, but... if self harm is a trigger, don't read.

Gritting his teeth, Dick slowly pushed himself out of the wheelchair and onto the floor of his closet. The manor was quiet today, what with Bruce at work, Damian working down in the Batcave, and Tim studying. It was the perfect atmosphere to attempt activities that the others would most certainly not approve.

They had removed the lock on his door before bringing him home from the hospital, but the closet door still locked. And, like all bedrooms in the Wayne Manor, the attached closet in his room was massive; large enough to start training his wreaked body, that was for sure.

“Titus, don’t look at me like that.” Dick mumbled, reaching out to scratch the dog’s chin as the animal whined at him. “I know Bruce wants me resting. Trust me, I _know_. But I need to see what I can do… I can’t… I can’t just accept spending the rest of my life in that stupid chair. I used to be able to fly…”

The dog whined again, dark eyes clearly judgmental.

Dick huffed. “If it’s too difficult, I’ll stop.” He told the dog, stretching out his legs and reaching for his toes. His flexibility had definitely gotten worse, and Dick hated it with a burning passion. In fact, he hated everything about his current situation. He felt so incredibly _weak_.

_He was weak._

He had always been too weak, and now… well… now he would live as a burden on his family forever. Dick was not about to just sit by and let that happen. Even if he did have to actually sit by because of being stuck in a wheelchair.

Although, if his secret closet exercises worked, then maybe he would not be wheelchair bound permanently.

Slowly, Dick reached for the wall, using it to brace himself as, inch by inch, he slowly rose to his feet. Even that seemingly simple movement left him wheezing, chest tight and lungs aching. His heart was racing in his chest, vision blurring and legs shaking as he leaned against the wall, struggling to remain upright.

It hurt.

It hurt so, _so_ much.

And then, his knees were buckling and his hand on the wall was slipping and he toppled back down to the floor.

Blood rushing through his ears and muffling Titus’ whines, Dick gasped for air, frustration and sadness waring within him as he let out a soft cry, tears almost painful as they traced their way down his cheeks.

If he could not even manage to stand, how would he ever be able to fly again?

How would he ever be able to be Robin again?

How would he ever be able to be _useful_ again?

Curled up into a ball on his closet floor, Richard Grayson cried. Because truly, he was not fine. He would never be fine again. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how slow he went, no matter how careful he was, Dick knew deep down that things would never truly be the same.

_He would always be weak._

~•~

“So, Dick, what have you done today?” Bruce asked, reaching across the table for a dish of potatoes.

Dick glanced up from his plate, shoulders rising and falling in a tired shrug. “Not much.” There was no way Bruce could know about his… closeted activities… right? Dick had checked for cameras and everything.

Bruce simply smiled at him. “You know, if you start getting bored you could always head down to the cave. I’m sure Damian could use some help with researching.”

“I could, actually.” Damian agreed, glancing between the two before returning his focus to his plate. “There’s a new drug syndicate that I’ve been trying to bust for weeks. An extra pair of eyes on it could be useful.”

“Thanks and all but… you don’t need to try and include me. I know I wouldn’t be very useful.” Dick mumbled, shaking his head with a soft sigh as he absently poked at his food, pushing a quickly cooling piece of potato around the plate.

Tim frowned. “Dick, of course you’d be useful. You’re the best hacker we’ve got.”

Dick snorted softly, shaking his head. “Seriously Tim, cut it out, would you? I’m well aware of the fact that my only helpful skill as Robin was the acrobatics. And I can’t do that anymore. Besides, even if I was good at hacking back… back _then_ , I’m probably not anymore. Computers change a lot in three years.”

“Dick, you have more to offer than your acrobat skills. Yes, those were useful, but there are other ways that you can help. If you want to help, that is. No one is pressuring you to start being a hero again.” Bruce inserted gently, reaching over to place a reassuring hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I was just trying to let you know that not being able to be Robin anymore does not mean that you have to completely give up everything. There will always be a place for you on our team. Always.”

“Oh yeah. Sure. So what, you want me to sit behind a computer and _watch_ while you guys go off and fight crime together?” Dick asked, tone cold as he flinched away from Bruce’s touch, turning away. “I can’t do _anything_ anymore. I can’t walk, I can’t fight, I can’t… I can’t even have a normal night’s sleep. I _know_ I’m useless. You guys treating me like I’m a fragile piece of glass does not help that.”

“Grayson, no one is treating you like th–”

Dick held up a hand, eyes narrowing as he glared across the table at Damian. “Being an acrobat is in my _blood_. I can’t just… you can’t just… I can’t move on from that. If you cared about me at all, you would never have even suggested me coming back to hero work.” He snapped, setting his fork down and powering on his wheelchair, steering it away from the table and out of the kitchen.

“Dick!”

“Leave him be, Tim. He’ll be okay. He just… he just needs time.”

Yeah, right.

As if time would fix his broken body.

As if time would let him _fly_ again.

As if time would bring back all the people he had murdered.

~•~ 

Bones crunched and snapped as blood flew in wide arches, the crimson fluid painting the streets as creating some kind of horrific modern art instillation.

There was so much blood, it seemed as if the buildings themselves were bleeding, the steady drip, drip, _drip_ echoing in his ears.

All he knew were shadows, blood, and terrified screams of the innocent victims.

The innocents that _he_ had killed.

His body was moving without his consent, his lips tugged up into a cruel smile, his vocal cords vibrating with an eerie cackle.

He did not want this.

He did not ask for this.

There was no communicating with the creature inhabiting his body, no attempt at negotiations and bargaining.

Dick had tried.

He had tried everything.

But still, he tried again, pushing his consciousness forward, fighting for control even as his body continued to move, continued to send shadows out, continued to _kill_.

And then, suddenly, Dick had full control of his eyes. Watching firsthand as his hands moved up unbidden, the form of a pregnant woman pulled forth from the shadows.

She was struggling, _screaming_ , but no matter how hard he struggled, how hard he fought, he could not gain control.

_He was useless._

“See, boy? They will all die. You cannot stop me.” His lips parted and the words spilled forth, his own voice twisted and evil, the cruel tone so incredibly strange and foreign. Dick would never speak like that.

_He had never spoken like that._

The woman screamed louder, but the demon simply laughed, hand reaching up, shadows following the motion as he brought it down in a quick slashing gesture.

Blood spurted out, red droplets falling into his face and coating his clothes as suddenly he once again had control over his limbs and the shadows were gone.

He knelt by the woman, tears blurring his vision as he gazed down at her mutilated and bloodstained body. Except the face staring back at him was not one of a stranger.

_It was his mother._

He had killed his mother.

He had killed cities worth of people.

Soft whines filtered through the horrifying reality, something wet and scratchy touching his face.

He jolted awake, breaths coming in sharp gasps, eyes darting around the room in terror. 

_No one was there._

_It was okay._

Except it was very much not okay.

_At least he had not screamed this time._

“Thanks, Titus.” Dick mumbled, gently petting the dog who was shifting nervously in front of him, whining and pawing at his side. “I’m good.”

Except he was very much not good.

This could not keep on happening. He could not continue to bother his family like this.

_He had already hurt everyone enough._

He was weak. He was useless. He was broken.

_He was a burden._

With a trembling hand, Dick yanked open the drawer in his bedside table, rummaging frantically until his fingers grasped around a bottle at the very back. He pulled it out, breathing erratic as he attempted to unscrew the lid. It took several tries, but finally, _finally_ , he got the cap off.

The sight of the red pills was enough to calm his racing heart.

Was this really what he wanted?

Was he really going to do this?

Titus whined softly, pawing gently at Dick’s side, the large brown eyes sad.

Dick looked away.

“Sorry, bud.” He whispered, pouring the pills out into his open palm.

How many would be enough?

Should he just take the whole bottle?

If he was going to do this, he needed to do it well.

So, with one last deep breath of air, Dick tilted his head back and swallowed the pills. It took several rounds before they were all gone, the bottle dropping from his hand as he leaned back against his pillows.

This was it.

Now all he needed to do was wait.

Titus whined louder, nuzzling Dick’s face and pawing harder at his side.

As numbness slowly overtook his body, Dick let out a tired breath of air, eyes drifting closed. This was for the best.

Dimly, he was aware of Titus howling next to him, the sound met with pounding footsteps and shouting voices.

Hands pushed and pulled at his body, but Dick was already too gone to care.

_He would no longer be a burden._


	13. Hug time

A disturbingly familiar beeping sound was what first alerted Dick to the fact that he was indeed still alive.

The angry whispers and excessive cursing were the second.

With a soft groan, Dick blinked his eyes open, gaze taking in the all too familiar white ceiling of the hospital room.

Great. Just great.

Even better was the fact that he could practically feel the angry and concerned stares burning into him. Reluctantly, Dick turned his head, giving his family a weak smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi? _Hi_?” Damian snapped, tone harsh and cold as he stepped closer to the bed, eyes narrowing. “You try to _kill yourself_ and all you have to say about it is ‘ _hi_ ’?”

Dick grimaced. “Sorry?”

Jason let out an exasperated groan, tugging Damian out of the way to take his turn glowering down at the youngest Wayne ward. “Look, Dickie-bird, I get wanting to off yourself to escape these idiots, I really do, but seriously? Pain killers? They had to fucking pump your stomach. Do you have any idea how gross that shit is? At least do something that’ll get you some cool ass scars.”

“Seriously, Jason? He tried to kill himself and that’s what you have to say?” Tim asked, joining Jason by the bed and reaching out for Dick, fingers starting to comb through the messy black hair. “We were so worried… I… you were having seizures and you wouldn’t stop shaking, and…” Tim shuddered, blue eyes searching Dick’s face. “You know you can talk to us, right? You… we’re always going to be here for you. _Always_.”

“Tim… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to worry you.” Dick whispered, guilt stabbing through his chest as he looked away. “I just… I had a nightmare, and I… I-I just wanted it to end…”

“That’s why you’re supposed to call for us… You’ve been hurting and we… we didn’t do anything to help.” Tim mumbled, guilt overwhelming his worried tone.   
  
Dick looked back up quickly, shaking his head. “No. Tim, this isn’t at all your fault. I just… I was stupid, okay? It won’t happen again.”

“You bet your ass it won’t. I’m moving back in. Clearly these assholes can’t take care of you properly.”

“Todd, please. Shut up.”

“Um… no? I’m not gonna shut up. You shut up.”

Dick groaned. “Jay… Dami… I love you, but if you both could shut up, that’d be great.”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest with a huff, turning away. “Fiiine. But I’m still moving back in.”

“As if we’d actually let you do that. There is a strict no gun rule.” Damian shot back, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance and glowering at Jason. “You’d also be required to _shower_.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Tim gave Dick a tired smile, and Dick returned it, honestly feeling so guilty for avoiding Tim for so long. It had clearly affected the other male a lot, especially since somehow Tim seemed to think that he was at fault for Dick’s suicide attempt. Which he most certainly was not.

“Where’s Bruce?” Dick asked quietly, Jason and Damian still arguing loudly.

Tim glanced over at the door with a faint chuckle. “Fighting with the doctors. Something about the ambulance being too slow. It wasn’t… but he’s stressed. I feel sorry for the staff.”

~•~

The atmosphere at the manor was tense, especially since Jason had actually been serious about moving in.

Dick had only been back from the hospital for a few hours when Jason had arrived, a few bags slung over his shoulder and an evil grin on his lips as he pushed open the front door and flopped onto the couch next to Dick as if he had never stopped living there.

It was surprisingly nice, especially when Jason started snoring.

At least having Jason there broke up some of the silence which had been growing more and more nerve-wracking as time passed by.

That being said, Dick really was not sure why he felt so nervous. Damian was gone and Bruce had barely spoken to him at all since their return home, which left him with Tim and Alfred, two of the least threatening people Dick had ever met.   
  
Well… Alfred could be threatening, but Dick had rarely had the unfortune of being on the receiving end of his anger.

Maybe it was Tim’s constant hovering that was making him anxious. Or the fact that he knew Bruce well enough to know that he would be ending up with a serious lecture when the older man sorted through his own feelings and thoughts. Dick was definitely not looking forward to that. Not at all.

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”Dick swallowed, fidgeting anxiously with his hands as he gazed down at his lap, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to say. “Do you think… do you think Bruce is mad?”

“Of course not. None of us are mad at you.” Tim was quick to reassure, shifting closer to Dick on the couch and pulling him in for a hug, one which Dick more than happily curled into.

He had missed Tim’s hugs. That was something else that he had messed up too.

“You should be mad at me.”

Tim frowned. “Why? You haven’t done anything wrong. I mean… sure, trying to kill yourself was not great, but you were possessed by a demon for years. You saw things no one should have to see, much less a thirteen-year-old kid. You’re allowed to be upset and scared and reactionary.”

“But I was mean to you. I… I pushed you away when all you wanted to do was help me. You should be mad.” Dick whispered, turning his face into Tim’s chest so that he did not have to meet the older male’s eyes. He did not want to see that hurt expression again.

“It was frustrating, sure. I hated it. But, like I said, you’re allowed to react. Everyone experiences trauma differently, Dickie. I’m just glad that you’re willing to open up more now… even if it took you doing something drastic first.” Tim’s voice was soft, reassuring, and Dick could not help but feel even more guilty.

“I-I… I just… I didn’t anyone getting close. I… I didn’t… I couldn’t risk hurting you. I already… I already almost killed you once.”

Tim’s arms tightened around Dick as he shifted the smaller male’s body until they were looking eye to eye, watery blue meeting its piercing and intense counterpart. “Dick, listen to me, okay? That was not your fault. You were _possessed_. None of what happened while you were possessed was your fault. If anything, you saved me from being killed, remember? You fought the demon enough for me to be fine.”

Dick sniffled softly, shaking his head. “But it is my fault. It was _my_ body. I… I should have fought harder, should have… should have tried harder.”

“Hey… shh. It’s okay, little wing.” Tim cooed gently, cradling Dick even closer as tears began to slip down his youngest brother’s cheeks. “I can’t say that I know what you’re going through, but it’ll be okay. You fought as hard as you could. You were strong. And it’s okay now to be scared. It’s okay to cry and be worried. Because we’re here for you now. And we won’t let anything happen to you. Me, Damian, Bruce, Alfred… even Jason. We’re here to protect you. We won’t give up on you no matter how long it takes or how hard it is.”

“He’s right, Dick.” A deeper, gentle, voice spoke up, both boys’ heads turning to watch as Bruce entered the room, moving to carefully sit down between Dick and the still sleeping Jason. He held out his arms, and Dick moved into the embrace, still sniffling softly. “I know this is hard for you. And I know that this recovery is not going to be easy. But you need to trust us, okay? You need to talk to us. We’re here for you, bud.”

Dick nodded weakly, reaching out to Tim and pulling the other male into the embrace as well.

Tim came happily, overjoyed by the fact that Dick was actually talking to them again, actually letting them reassure and comfort him. Of course, he wished that Dick’s willingness to open up had come sooner, before Dick got to a point where he felt like ending his life was the only option, but Tim understood that Dick had needed space.

Unfortunately for the family bonding, Jason chose that moment to wake up.

“Ewwww. What the fuck? Why are you all hugging? That’s fucking gross. Get your stinky ass away from me.” He snapped at Bruce, starting to get off the couch.

Bruce reached out, a strong hand wrapping around Jason’s arm and tugging him back down and into the embrace. “Not now, Jason.”

And, surprisingly enough, Jason listened, falling silent as they all hugged, Dick’s sniffles growing gradually quieter and quieter until the younger male moved back, wiping at his face with a weak smile.

“Thanks.”

Bruce ruffled his hair. “Of course. Anything for you.”

“Ew.”   
  
“Shut up, Jason.”

“Did I just miss something?” Damian asked as he stepped into the room, jacket bulging out in a rather odd manner around his upper chest.

Dick glanced around at the other family members settled on the couch before shrugging. “Maybe… but that’s not really important.” He mumbled, rubbing at his face with his sleeve in an attempt to get rid of any stray tears. It was bad enough for Jason to see him crying. He hated to think how Damian, the strongest of them all, would think of him if he too saw the tears.

However, Damian just smiled, stepping around the couch and coming to stand in front of Dick. “So, I know that you and Titus get along well and all, but he is still my do–”

“I’m so sorry for keeping him for so long when you need him.” Dick broke in, guilt hitting him hard once more. Damian had told him that Titus was his support animal. Of course that meant that Damian would need him back. Dick had been foolish to think he could continue to keep the dog nearby all the time. Foolish and selfish.

“No, no. I wanted him to be with you… you needed him.” Damian said, shaking his head, the smile never once leaving his lips. “However… I did think that maybe you might want one of your own.”  
  
Dick frowned. “One… one of my own?” There was no way Damian meant what Dick thought he meant. There was no way that Damian was giving him a dog. And yet, when Damian unzipped his jacket, there it was.

A tiny little fluff ball of black and brown fur, staring at Dick with the largest brown eyes that he had ever seen.

“He isn’t trained much yet, so he’ll have to go to classes, but I figured you’d appreciate him all the same.” Damian carefully held out the dog to Dick, watching in amusement as his younger brother accepted the puppy with an expression of enraptured awe, cradling the squirming pup to his chest and giggling when its pink tongue flicked out to lick over his cheek. “There’s one condition.”  
  
Dick looked back up at Damian, brilliant blue eyes holding just a glint of the sparkle that they had once possessed. “What is it?”

Leaning forward, Damian ruffled his younger brother’s hair. “No more attempted suicides, okay?”

Instead of an answer, Dick carefully set the puppy down, shifting his body just the few inches forward necessary to be able to wrap his arms around his brother’s waist. “Thankyou, Dami… He’s perfect.”

“Of course. Anything for you.”

Jason had picked up the squirming pup by the time Dick pulled away again, staring at the dog with a suspicious gaze. “We need to name it.”

“Jason, give Dick back the puppy.” Bruce reprimanded, reaching for the dog. “Dick gets naming rights.”

“Fine, fine. But I suggest Jason. Has a nice ring to it.”

Dick laughed, taking his puppy back and snuggling with the little animal as it curled up contentedly in his lap. “I’m not naming him Jason… but… but what about Ace?”

“Ace is a great name.” Tim agreed, slipping his phone out of his pocket to snap a quick picture of the two.

Damian nodded. “A great name indeed.”

“Ace the Bat-hound.” Jason added, smirking when all he received were annoyed groans from the rest of the family. “Awe, you know you fuckers missed me.”

“Shut up, Jason.”

~•~

The manor was quiet, Tim, Jason, and Damian having left to go on patrol as dusk approached, leaving Dick and Bruce sitting together in the living room. They did not trust him to be on his own, which Dick could completely understand. His botched suicide attempt had clearly terrified everyone.

He smiled softly down at the fluffy little ball of fur curled up in his lap. Ace was fast asleep, soft puffs of air leaving his snout in the cutest little snores. It was adorable. Ace was adorable. Dick scratched gently behind the pup’s ear, watching as the dog snorted and stretched out more atop him.

Looking down at the puppy, Dick slowly came to a decision. He needed some way to make things right, and… well… he thought that maybe, just maybe, he would be able to.

“Bruce?”

“Yes, Dick? What is it?”

“I… I want to try.”

Bruce frowned, carefully setting his book down and turning to look at Dick. “Try what?”

“I want to try being a hero again.”


	14. Behind the screen

“I know how to use a computer, Bruce. That’s _why_ I’m doing this, remember?” Dick protested, annoyance all too clear in his tone as Bruce explained for what felt like the tenth time how all of the Batcave computers functioned. “And I didn’t get amnesia either. You covered all this stuff in basic training before you let me on the streets when I was eight. I’ve practically been raised using these computers.”

Bruce frowned down at him, worry clear in his gaze. “I know, I know, but… you’ve been gone for a while. I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable with everything. I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Strain myself? Literally all I’ll be doing is typing.”

Tim rolled his eyes, pushing away from where he had been leaning against a wall and coming to stand next to the youngest bat-sibling. “Bruce, you haven’t changed anything in here since you became Batman. I mean, maybe tech upgrades, but the placement has never changed. Dick could probably navigate around everything blindfolded. Heck, I bet even Jason could, and Jason actually died.”

“I heard Jason. You fuckers talking about me?”

Dick groaned, turning to glare at Jason as he waltzed into the room to join them by the computers. “Why is everyone here? Everyone does not need to be here. This is not some kind of family reunion. I’m just refamiliarizing myself with the tech.”

“Dick’s right. You two do not need to be here.” Bruce agreed, a bit huffy that his assistance also did not seem required. “Dick and I need to focus.”

“Yeah right. The only thing you’re doing here is annoying the midget.”

“Hey! Just because I’m in a wheelchair does not mean I’m short. I’ve grown since you died.”

Jason rolled his eyes, arms crossing over his chest as he quirked one eyebrow at his younger brother. “Oh really? Because I saw your hospital records, Dickie-bird. If anything, you’ve shrunk. Five foot five. Midget.”

“Ace, attack.” Dick instructed, pointing at Jason. The puppy lifted his head from where he had been sleeping on the floor, eyeing Jason for a moment before yawning loudly and dropping his head back down to rest on his paws once more, promptly falling back to sleep. Dick pouted, glaring at Jason when the other male broke down into a fit of obnoxious laughter.

“You were going to set the puppy on me? The _puppy_?” Jason gasped out, clutching at his stomach as he continued to laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Awe, is the little baby offended~?”

“I thought this was supposed to be training?” Damian asked, confusion evident on his tone and face as he stepped out of the elevator and made his way over to the seemingly ever-growing circle of family members. “Why is Todd even down here? I thought he was banned from the cave…”

Dick turned pleading eyes toward his oldest brother. “Dami! Jason is being a jerk. Tell him I’m not _that_ short.”

“There’s no denying the truth, midget.” Jason retorted, still recovering from his fit of laughter. “No one can ban me from anything. I go where I want to go, bitches.”

Damian looked over at Bruce, raising one eyebrow. “I take it training is not going well?”

“Hardly.” Bruce admitted. If Dick did not know better, he would think Bruce was pouting. “If you would all just leave and let me train Dick, that would be great.”

“I told you. I don’t need training, Bruce. It’s a computer. I know how it works. I know how to access your data files. I know how to hack things. Literally all I’ll be doing is sitting at the computer and giving you guys information. It’s not that hard.” Dick protested, frustration returning in full force. “If I get it wrong, you guys can just ignore me.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great, Dick.” Tim reassured, earning an annoyed look from Bruce.

“There are still things to go over. Training is important.”

Damian sighed. “Father, it’s okay. Grayson is right. He knows the computers fine. It’s just a matter of getting used to working with us in the field again, and that can only be tested when we actually go on patrol.”

“I would not have taken this many children in if I knew that they were going to all gang up on me.” Bruce grumbled, shoulders slumping in resignation. “Fine. We’ll test it tonight on patrol.”

“Good. Thankyou.” Dick agreed, tone still slightly exasperated. “Now if you would all just leave, that’d be great. I want to actually look stuff over without you all looking over my shoulder.”

With muttered protests and complaints, his family slowly and reluctantly made their ways back up to the elevator and out of the Batcave, leaving Dick alone; just himself, the computers, and Ace still sleeping at his feet.

He reached forward, fingertips lightly tracing over the keys of the Bat-computer. It felt strange, to be back in the cave again, to be doing hero work again. With a soft sigh, Dick steered his wheelchair away from the computer and toward the display cases, coming to a stop next to one at the very end.

It hurt to look at what stood inside, the vibrant colors sending waves of bitter sadness and nostalgia through his chest.

His Robin suit.

The costume that he had worn since the age of eight.

The costume that had been modeled after his days in the circus.

The costume that had let him _fly_.

Unable to properly stand on his own anymore, just looking at the suit made his heart clench in his chest. It _hurt_ to see the suit again, to know that no matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, he would never be healthy enough, never be good enough, to wear it again.

Robin was dead.

And, considering Dick’s deteriorating body, he knew deep down that soon he would be too.

~•~

“Robin? You got the info on the syndicate’s location?”

“Oracle.” Finger’s flying across the keyboard, Dick pulled up the relevant information, lips quirking into a smirk. “The trackers are heading for the docks. Based on that, satellite footage, and heat scans, it’s a pretty safe bet to say that they’re in the third warehouse on the second dock. You know the one?”

“Wait. Hold up. Oracle? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Red Hood, how did you get onto this line?”

Dick smirked. “I added him.” Exasperated sighs sounded from the rest of his family, making Dick laugh. “Come on… he’s not _that_ bad.”

“Robin, he shoots people.”

“Oracle. And he only shoots the bad ones though…”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Stop talking like I’m not fucking right here. It’s _rude_.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dick grinned. “Robin doesn’t really fit me anymore. I want my new name to be Oracle. The all-knowing power behind everything.”

Jason’s derisive snort rang all to clearly through the com. “All-knowing. Sure, little wing. You keep on telling yourself that.”

“I think it’s a great name, Oracle.” Bruce reassured, tone surprisingly warm and… well… _proud_.

Dick’s grin spread wider, warmth rising in his chest. “Thanks.” He mumbled, scooping up Ace and burying his face in the puppy’s fur. Ace yipped happily, squirming and trying to lick him.

“Oracle, stop playing with your puppy while on the job.”

With a sigh, he reluctantly put Ace down, straightening his headset and placing his fingers back onto the keyboard. “Right, right. Okay. Heat signatures are saying at least thirty targets. Oh, also it looks like there are some kittens in the dumpster outside the warehouse… make sure to get the kittens.”

“Kittens? How many kittens?”

“Nightwing, cut it out.”

Dick could practically see Damian pouting under Bruce’s chastising glare. He quickly pressed the button that would let him communicate with his oldest brother without the others overhearing. “There are at least four. Heat signatures are weak though… I’d recommend getting to them soon.”

“Right. On it.” Damian confirmed, voice serious despite the fact that they were discussing a kitten rescue in the middle of a drug ring bust.

Bruce’s exasperated sigh came through the other line. “Oracle, I know you’re discussing the kittens on a private line. He’s standing right next to me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” The laugh in Dick’s voice made it all too clear that he was not in fact sorry.

“Any hostages?”

“Not from what I can see. Looks like a pretty easy fight, honestly. Just stay whelmed and keep on feeling that aster.”

“Oooh. Aster? I like that one. Opposite of disaster, right?”

“Red Robin. Please be quiet. You’re supposed to be scouting.”

“Oops. I may have been spotted.”

“Fucking hell. This is why I should have gone in.”

“Hood, you’re not even a part of our team.”

“The fuck I’m not? I moved back in.”

“So… they’ve totally spotted me.”  
  
“Hood, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

“You’ve got several cars full of people coming in from the west.” Dick commented, fingers stroking through Ace’s fur as he listened to the banter of his father and brothers.   
  
He had missed this.   
  
He had missed this a lot.

It felt great to be back, even if Dick knew it was only temporary.   
  
One final hurrah before the curtains closed for good.


	15. Christmas is a fitting ending

“Yo, Oracle. You’re getting me something good for Christmas, right?” Jason asked abruptly, making Dick jolt ever so slightly, concentration breaking.

“Hood, I’m trying to hack into a security system at the moment. Could you at least wait until after I’m done?” He asked, fingers flying over the keyboard even as his mind strayed to Jason’s question. He froze. “Wait. Christmas? It’s _Christmas_? When?”

A shocked gasp sounded loud in his ear. “You forgot Christmas? _You_?”

“I’ve been a little busy…” Dick rolled his eyes, although he was internally starting to panic. He loved Christmas. He had been the one in their family insisting that Christmas be a celebrated holiday. To have forgotten it… well… it was not good. “When… when is it?”

“Shame on you, Oracle. Shame.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you? Fine. I’ll just look it up myself.” Dick grumbled, hitting the last few keys to finish the program that was running. “Security’s down. You’re clear to go in.” He said absently, pulling up a separate tab and googling the date. “Oh no…”

“Oh no what? Oracle? You good?”

Dick ignored the voice in his ear, eyes wide as he stared at the date. It was not possible, right? There was no way Christmas was that soon.

“Umm… _hello_? Oracle, seriously, say something.”

The words filtered in one ear and out the other as Dick pulled up another tab, re-searching the date. Oh no. It really was true.

“That’s it. I’m calling Bruce.”

“What? Oh… no. It’s fine… well it’s not really fine, but… I’m fine. I think I’m fine at least…” Dick was still staring at the date displayed large and clear on the screen in front of him. It was currently December twenty third. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. “Hey, Hood?”

“Yeah, kid?” Jason asked, voice slightly strained, the faint sounds of gunshots sounding in the background.

Still staring at the date, Dick sighed. “You good on your own? I need to do some shopping.”

Jason snorted. “Sure thing, little wing. Just make sure my present’s the best.”

“No promises.” Dick disconnected the call and pulled out his earpiece, making sure everything was organized neatly on the desk before steering his chair away. “Come on, Ace. We’ve got stuff to do.”

With a happy little bark, the puppy trotted along behind him and into the elevator.

~•~

Christmas Eve was always chaotic in the Wayne household, as generally they forgot to put up decorations until last minute. It was also when presents were handed out, a tradition started after one fateful Christmas Day when a ten-year-old Dick had made the mistake of jumping on Damian’s bed at five in the morning leading to an accidental sword injury and subsequent hospital visit. For the benefit of all parties involved, Bruce and Alfred had made the executive decision to move main Christmas festivities to the night before the actual day, leaving plenty of sleep in time Christmas morning.

Of course, they still held celebrations on the actual day, but those were much more relaxed, centering around a large brunch and Christmas movie marathon, to which the boys were allowed to invite friends. Following the eventual exhaustion of good Christmas movies, or one of the boys growing fed up enough to start threatening violence to the TV, the festivities continued into the kitchen were a gingerbread building competition was held.

After winning five years in a row, Alfred had been banned from participating and relegated to the position of judge, a much needed position as voting generally led to an outburst of violence and gingerbread manslaughter. However, in the three years that Dick had been gone, Christmas had become a dull occasion, especially after the first year when Alfred and Bruce had learned the hard way that pitting Tim and Damian against eachother without another sibling to act as damage control was a sure fire way to cause disaster.

According to Alfred, it had taken weeks to clean up the kitchen properly, and he had found stray pieces of candy for nearly a year afterward. When Tim and Damian were questioned about the incident, neither would admit to the chaos they had caused, although Damian did mutter something about frosting in his hair. At the mere mention of what Dick discovered had been dubbed ‘the incident’, Bruce began shaking his head and muttering, eyes taking on a far away and very haunted expression.

Still, despite the clear mishaps that had occurred in his absence, Dick was enjoying spending time with his family now, Christmas music playing as Damian and Jason struggled with the massive tree in the entryway. Unable to complete his normal task of climbing to the top and adding the star, Dick settled with carrying boxes of decorations to the tree, ferrying them on his lap as Bruce rummaged through their dust filled decorations closet, pulling out box after box of sparkly ornaments. Tim had taken up sorting duty, arranging the boxes neatly at the foot of the tree, making it easier for Jason and Damian to pick out the correct ones for tasteful decoration.

It was a team effort, and one that the entire family enjoyed, even if Jason and Damian were swearing at eachother with every other word, only ceasing their fighting to gang up on Tim who insisted on critiquing nearly every ornament placement. Alfred was supervising, of course, but the elderly man knew better than to break up the sibling squabbles. Fighting was what they did after all. It would not be Christmas in the Wayne household without at least two death threats and one attempted murder.

By the time everything was decorated and the dust swept away, the sun was already setting on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the transformed entryway, the tree sparkling in the light, surrounded by piles of pillows and blankets. Presents were something that the family gave sparingly, as they could easily just purchase whatever they desired, however, the gifts that they did give were always either one of two things, special and more personal in nature, or a full-on gag gift. There was no middle ground.

As light completely faded from the sky, Alfred and Bruce began to move about the room, lighting carefully placed candles around the room. Most were securely covered, they had learned the hard way with that too, but they were still abundant, casting a flickering light across the room, dim enough to create a cozy atmosphere but bright enough for everyone to see fairly well. Once the last candle had been set into place, the boys entered the room, each finding a comfy position on the mounds of blankets and pillows, the presents which they would give kept close. Years of sibling experience had taught them all to never put a present under the tree. Someone, most likely Jason, would open it and/or steal it.

Tim helped Dick down onto the blankets, settling in beside him and sending Jason a warning look. “Hands off the gifts, Jason. Don’t think I can’t see you inching closer.”

“As if I want _your_ presents, Drake. Don’t be a fucking idiot.” Jason retorted, continuing to move closer until he was comfortably situated on Dick’s other side, slinging an arm over Dick’s shoulders and tugging him in close. “I’m allowed to be affectionate. It’s fucking Christmas.”

“You? Affectionate?” Damian asked with a laugh, although he too was situated surprisingly close to Tim, close enough that they could be considered to be cuddling if either moved an inch in the other’s direction.

Jason lifted an eyebrow, mouth opening to no doubt point out that closeness. Dick elbowed him in the stomach, the appendage extra sharp due to his dangerously skinny frame.

“Owww.” Jason whined, pouting down at Dick. “I am mortally offended. You better have gotten me one hell of a gift to make up for this.”

Dick smirked, shrugging and cuddling in closer to his normally hostile older brother. “You’ll have to wait to find out. I want to save giving mine until tomorrow.”

“You do?” Bruce asked, him and Alfred taking up their respective positions amongst the heaped up soft items. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah… I’m still working on one.” Dick nodded, unable to hide the grin that spread across his lips at Tim’s sigh.   
  
“But… presents…”

“Shut up, Drake.” Jason said before breaking down into a fit of laughter as Tim’s defeated expression somehow managed to look even more sad. “Awe~ Poor baby. You always tell me to shut up. Now it’s my turn.”

“Both of you shut up.” Damian cut in, smirking when Jason’s laughter turned into pouting. “Time for gifts.”

The gift giving went surprisingly smoothly, especially considering the fact that no one had purchased gag gifts this year. No, all were special, albeit the occasional few being childish and fun. It was sweet, and as the evening drifted closer and closer to morning, Dick found himself hanging on each and every word that was spoken, lips parting in laughter more than once.

It was a peaceful atmosphere, one immersed in coziness and an undeniable purity, for tonight they were not the dark guardians of Gotham City. Tonight, they were simply a family. Sure, maybe they had some issues, and maybe they did not all fully get along, and maybe they would be at each other’s throats the following day, but in this moment, they were perfect.

Everything was perfect.

Dick smiled softly as he looked around at his family, warmth filling his chest and practically overflowing outward. He was happy. Finally, finally, he was truly and surely happy. It felt… it felt nice. Beyond nice even. With a softly murmured ‘goodnight’, Dick steered his wheelchair away from the cozy room, resolve slowly forming. This had been a good night. It was worthy of being his last night.

He had been lying about working on a present.

He knew exactly what he was going to give each family member, and they were all laying neatly on his bed, notes attached to each object except one. For Tim there would be Zitka, the stuffed elephant which had kept Dick company every night since his very first arrival at the manor. For Damian there was a blanket that Dick’s mother had made for him as a baby, one of the few things he still had from her. For Alfred there was a photo book filled with Dick’s most fond childhood memories; a truly treasured item. For Bruce, there was the circus costume which Dick had worn the night of his parents’ deaths; the night they had met. And, finally, for Jason there was what Dick currently considered his most valued possessions; Ace the Bat-Hound. Of course, a note could not exactly be attached to the dog, but Dick had placed it with the other gifts, a small doodle of a puppy sitting right below his brother’s name, along with information inside.

Dick knew that his family really would be okay without him. They might miss him, sure, but they would recover. They would be okay.

With those final thoughts, Dick slipped out of his wheelchair and onto his bed, Ace jumping up after him and happily curling into his side. His smile remained as he gently stroked the dog’s fur with one hand and reached for his bedside table with the other, picking up his bottle of sleeping pills. Hands steady, Dick unscrewed the cap and popped out two before replacing the cap and setting the bottle back on his table. In one swift motion, Dick downed the pills.

He reached around his head, pulling off the oxygen tube which had been enabling him to breathe properly for weeks now and placing it too on the bedside table. Fingers still running through Ace’s fur, Dick let his eyes drift closed.

It was time to move on.

After all, he had been dead ever since that fateful night in the cavern all those years ago.

His body had died when the demon had entered it.

Because, what was a bird with no wings?

What was a Flying Grayson who could no longer fly?

Richard Grayson was well and truly dead and had been for a long time now.

Now all he needed to do was return home; to see first family again.

And, as Dick was pulled into the dark embrace of oblivion for one final time, he smiled.

This family would be fine without him.

His job here was done.

It was the **end**.


End file.
